Page 86 of From Ice to Grace
Some people like to downplay it, but I can’t. I won’t. I gave myself to Axel because I believed he was my forever, and I had to learn the hard way that physical intimacy outside of covenant, just leaves you with scars that run deeper than anyone admits. It binds you, even when vows were never spoken, and those ties in your soul can only be undone by the grace of God.
That’s why I made the ‘no intimacy’ rule with Declan. It’s not about playing coy or holding power over him. It’s about survival and obedience. Even if we are technically married, I have no right to enter into an intimate relationship with anyone when I haven’t dealt with Axel yet. The hurt, the unforgiveness, the things that bound us together…they haven’t been severed by God yet. And it wouldn’t be fair to anyone involved.
And yet, Declan is dangerously easy to lean into. His presence, the warmth of his closeness, the unguarded way he sometimes looks at me…I need to be more intentional about drawing a line. I can’t allow myself to get too involved when there’s a clear expiration date on our relationship. It will just leave me with more wounds to heal.
Declan comes up from behind me, letting out a low chuckle.
“Well, ain’t that a sight,” he says across my shoulder. “At least the bed is big enough for both of us.”
I turn toward him, quirking an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”
“What?” he asks, all wide-eyed innocence, but with a smirk threatening to tug at the corners of his mouth. “Are you seriously going to deny me a mattress too?”
“You know the deal, Declan.”
“I know the deal, Snowflake.” He leans against the door, his arms folded. “I never said anything about touching you. They even have pillows so you can build a wall between us if that’ll make you feel better.”
A pillow wall. That won’t be nearly enough. I need a brick wall between us, preferably one that’s reinforced with barbed wire.
“Or you can take the couch,” I suggest, tilting my head toward it. “It looks very comfy.”
He looks over his shoulder, then back at me. His smirk slips. “You’re serious?”
“How did you put it?” I ask, tapping my finger against my chin, like I’m searching for the word. “As serious as a suspension? Or a deportation?”
He shakes his head, chuckling again. Only this time it’s hollow and without humor.
“Is this what my marriage is going to look like?” he asks, walking past me into the bedroom. My first thought is that he’s going to claim the bed like a two-year old, but instead he grabs a few pillows before brushing past me again, tossing them on the couch. “I guess, it’s as normal as it gets.”
His words cause something inside me to snap. “This is not normal,” I say, clear irritation in my voice.
“Agree to disagree,” he says, stretching out on the couch like he owns it. “I’m not the only husband in the city sleeping on a couch tonight. I’m willing to bet my life on it.”
To him this is what marriage is like—a wife withholding from her husband while he’s sulking on the couch. A part of me hates that our agreement is only feeding into Declan’s distorted view on relationships.
I cross my arms. “Why are you so cynical?”
He doesn’t even blink, just shrugs. “Why aren’t you?”
I just stare at him, unable to prove him wrong in the situation we’re in. I didn’t have a perfect relationship, in fact I should be front and center when it comes to cynicism given what Axel did to me.
But I’m not cynical, because I know I’m not the poster child of what a godly person should be. Everybody makes mistakes. That’s why I have hope that God has something more for me. That marriages exist where wives submit to their husbands, and their husbands love their wives like Jesus loves the church. I believe there are relationships where love doesn’t have an expiration date, where love means you have security and protection, and someone who will persevere with you no matter the circumstances.
“Don’t look at me like that, Snowflake,” he says, his voice cutting through the space with jagged edges. “This is exactly why I don’t do messy or complicated. You want me to dig deep and explain why I think the way I think.” He scoffs, leaning forward. “What’s the use anyway? Someone usually decides they are sick of the other and then they leave.”
I almost laugh at the absurdity of his words.
“You don’t do messy or complicated? What would you call this then?” I ask, gesturing between us. “And who’s leaving?”
I shouldn’t have asked the question, because I don’t think I’m going to like the answer. Which in itself should tell me this arrangement is no longer what I thought it was going to be. I already care too much.
He rises from the couch, his dark eyes pinning me to the spot. The air in the room shifts, now heavy with intensity.
“I don’t think this thing between us is complicated at all,” he says, his voice low and steady.
Does he really believe this arrangement is simple? With all the paperwork and cover-ups? Or does he not want to consider the alternative...just like me.
“But that doesn’t mean you won’t leave in two years, Snowflake. You’ll want out at some point. In fact, I’m pretty sure you made that part a rule.”
