Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 62543 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 313(@200wpm)___ 250(@250wpm)___ 208(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 62543 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 313(@200wpm)___ 250(@250wpm)___ 208(@300wpm)
It’s my fault. It’s all my fault.
“Leave the door open,” Jay says softly, ignoring how I’m barely holding on.
I nod my head again and bite my lip as I turn my back to him, to go back alone to the room. It’s only then that Jay says, “I can’t, Robin. John will be here soon.”
John. The way Jay talks about him makes my heart ache with a splintering pain that’s nearly debilitating. I have to wait a moment, forcing all of the emotions away. Taking a look at this from my clinical background.
“What’s the purpose of doing things this way?” I lick my lips after croaking out the words. I’m nervous to approach Jay; after all the years of training, I should be more confident. But it’s Jay. I’m afraid to touch him, or to hurt him, to make him angry. Not because of what he’d do to me, but because of what my words could do to him.
Words are powerful, so much more than we realize.
“What do you mean?” he asks me, still staring at the ceiling, but his relaxed body is now stiff and his response makes me shift uneasily. I decide to sit on the ground, still in the entrance. The thin nightgown rides up but I pull it down as the cold wood floor presses against my thighs.
“Your way,” I answer him and put my hands in my lap. It feels like a session in some ways, and the thought is comforting. “Why do you want to do it like this?” I ask him.
“John won’t listen to me,” Jay says. “He just shuts me down and he doesn’t hear it.”
“You talk to him often?” I ask him as I pick at the hem of my nightgown, each little bit of information helps me to understand.
Jay clears his throat roughly and looks away from me and toward the window. My throat closes, hating how much this wounds him.
“That’s fine,” I tell him to try to reassure him. “I understand, Jay.” I keep my voice light and calm, feigning a casual air about such a serious conversation. “You know I’d never judge you.” I try to speak the words calmly, but they're quiet at the end as the anguish rises and my throat seems to close. My shoulders rise slowly as I take in a deep steadying breath and close my eyes.
“He won’t be able to deny you,” Jay says and his words make my eyes open. He licks his lips as soon as my eyes reach his, and they draw my focus to his mouth.
My body heats, and I feel nothing but ashamed. The desire is there; I can’t help it. But I’m ashamed that in this moment I want to comfort him in a primitive way. I have to tear my eyes away as I ask, “So you need me to tell him about our past? You can see why that scares me, can’t you?”
He shakes his head and says, “You don’t have to tell him anything you don’t want to.” My eyes flick back to his as he swallows and adds, “I just thought hearing it from you would help.”
“Since he won’t listen to you,” I say as if it’s a question, but it’s only to clarify what I already know. I try my best to hide the genuine fear of revealing anything to John. But I fail at it, miserably.
A hesitant breath leaves me and I try to beg him one last time, “We should go-”
He cuts me off before I can finish and says, “I’ll protect you. Always. I’ll be there.”
Always. The word is the final dagger. “You can’t promise me that.” I lower my head as the words slip out and I lose my sense of composure. I rest my head in my hands, my fingers spearing through my hair and I rock forward slightly. I’m not normally like this. The last time was my final session with Marie.
She reminded me so much of Jay. So much of me. So much of what we’d been through.
But this is nothing like what that poor girl went through. There’s only so much a person can be pushed. Only so much pain they can handle before they break. She wouldn’t take the medication I prescribed, and she couldn’t turn off the nightmares.
I can’t break down again. I can’t let what happened to Marie happen to Jay. I have to be strong for those who can’t. I failed her.
“I can, and I will. Please, little bird, my Robin.” Jay rises and crawls to me. I peek up through my lashes, wet with the promise of tears that I hold back.
I don’t resist him when he wraps his arms around me and pulls me into his lap. I stay still, not reaching up like I did when I was a child. He’d hold me if I promised not to hold him back.