Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 77016 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 385(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77016 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 385(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
I may not be able to reciprocate, and that will have to be okay with her.
“All right,” she says. “You want any coffee?”
“I think just a little more wine.” I fill my goblet halfway and then lift my eyebrows at her.
“No, thanks.” She smiles. “You want to sit on the couch? It’s more comfortable.”
“Sure.” I pick up my wineglass and walk to the living room.
She follows me, sits down, and pats the seat next to her.
I sit.
“You asked me a question the last time we were in New York together. A question I couldn’t answer then.”
“I did.”
“You didn’t think I was brave enough to find the answer.”
“That’s not exactly what I said. I said I was going to have my say, and then you could have yours, if you were brave enough.”
“All right. The exact words don’t really matter, because I’ve realized it’s not the answer that’s important in the long run.”
“Oh?”
I wrinkle my forehead. Perhaps she’s not going to open up after all, and I have to be okay with that. I have to be willing to walk away again.
“No, it’s the question. You see, Braden, I asked myself the question. I asked why the choking was so important to me, and I have an answer, but it’s not even the answer that’s important.”
“What do you mean?”
“Figuring these things out isn’t black-and-white. I know you like to think of things that way. You’re a lot like Tessa in that way.”
I chuckle. “Am I?”
“Don’t laugh at me.” She gives me a friendly swat on the upper arm. “I’m serious. She’s an accountant. A mathematician. There’s always a right and wrong with her. You’re the same way.”
“I’ll admit to being analytical, yes.”
“I’m an artist. Black and white only exist to me as opposite ends of a spectrum. There are so many colors in between. And then in between the in-between.”
“Am I in for a philosophy lesson?”
“I’m just trying to explain that yes, I have an answer to your question, but I’m not going to stop asking the question. It’s a journey. And while the answers themselves are important, they are only points along the way of the journey. To me, the answer isn’t as important as the question. And the question you asked me was why the neck binding was so important to me. I have an answer to that question, but before I got there, I had to ask another question.”
“You’re talking in circles, Skye.”
“I’m not, actually. You’re just refusing to see the shades and layers between black and white.”
“That’s not true. I wouldn’t be much of a businessman if I didn’t recognize that there aren’t any absolutes.”
“There you go, then. There is no one absolute answer to your question. I have an answer today—and that answer makes sense today—but I feel there’s more to learn about myself, and that might change the answer later.”
“Fair enough. What’s your answer today?”
“I was punishing myself.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Why?”
“Once I figured out that I saw the bondage as punishment, I knew right away why I wanted it. It’s because I feel like a fraud. The only reason anyone cares what I think is because I’m your girlfriend. Things went down and down after that. I lost my friendship with Tessa. I did a half-assed post for Susanne because I didn’t think I was any better than that. And then, that night in New York, you left me, too.”
“But that was after—”
“I know. I know. I’m getting to that.”
“Okay,” I say. “Go on.”
“So I talked to my mother, and I talked to a therapist, and with their help, I figured something out.”
Her voice breaks a little, but steely determination fills her eyes.
“Tell me,” I prod.
She draws in a breath. “When I remember the cornfield, some of it is so clear. My heart thumping, fear flowing through me. My little legs trying to run but tripping, and then the pole springing and breaking my path. Hitting my head. Then waking up in bed. But so much else was a blur. Like why was I running in the first place? I remember chasing the praying mantis, but there was so much urgency.”
“And did you figure that out?”
She nods. “For now, anyway. But like I said, I believe it’s a journey.”
“I understand. Life is a journey, Skye.”
“Exactly. I told you that I stopped asking my parents about their separation when I was little because they kept telling me that it was in the past and nothing for me to worry about. But after talking to my therapist, I went to my mother again.”
“And did you get your answer?”
She swallows. “I did. And it’s not pretty. Not pretty at all.”
“Do you want to tell me?”
“I do.” She bites her lips, pauses a moment. “I asked my mother again, and this time I told her I needed an answer because I was trying to figure some things out about myself. About my relationship with you. About my relationship with everyone, really. And that it all seemed to come back to those few months when Dad left.”