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I don't want strangers to see.
Not even when I'm in control, behind the camera.
Sometimes, they show up in my photos. I know how to light them to look harsh and ugly or faded and beautiful.
Sometimes, I consider claiming triumph. Look at how I used to hurt myself to cope. How I stopped. Found peace and mental health and well-being.
It was true for a while.
But when everything started feeling hard again—
I gave into old habits.
I'm not showing these to Adam. I'm not peeling back the walls around my heart, revealing my ugly parts, hoping he'll accept me.
How can I expect him to do the same?
Maybe that's it. Maybe I need to lead by example.
But the thought of sitting down and pointing out my scars—
It's terrifying.
I finish washing, wrap myself in a towel, find clothes in the dresser.
Adam is in the main room, in his own set of silk pajamas (slate grey, like most of his suits), sitting on the leather sofa, leafing through an old paperback.
Wearing glasses.
Holy shit.
Hotness overload.
I…
He…
Fuck.
"What are you reading?" Shit. "Sorry. I hate when people ask me that."
"You can sit. If you'd like."
Yes, I'd very much like. I cross the room. Take a seat next to him on the couch. "It's dark."
"It is."
"Doesn't that hurt your eyes?"
"It would if I was trying to absorb the words."
"Isn't that reading?"
He nods as he turns over the worn paperback. "Bash's favorite."
"Oh?"
"He was a man of action. He could barely sit still for school. He wasn't ever going to read voluntarily."
"Not an intellectual type?"
"No. A doer, not a thinker. But one day, he came out of his room—it was summer. We were all home. Even Simon. And Bash wanders down the stairs, holding up this book and he says, 'I just read the greatest thing in the world.'"
"Yeah?" I ask.
He smiles at the memory. "I'm sitting there thinking he finally did his summer reading. Was it Romeo and Juliet? To Kill a Mockingbird? The Outsiders? What great work of art finally moved him? So, I asked him. I named the books, and he looked at me like I was an idiot." Adam copies his brother's expression. "Please, Adam, you really think I'd like something so stuffy?"
"Would he?"
"No, but those books aren't stuffy. Of course, Bash would write them off just because they're on the list."
"I was the same way, with some more popular artists. Do we really need to see another impressionist bridge? Or a photo realistic vase." I smile. "I'd never admit it to Remy, though. He's always rolling his eyes at pictures of fruit or flowers."
"You like them?"
"Sometimes. I'd rather look at people. They're much more interesting than fruit."
"Bash would have liked you." His smile is sad. "But then he always liked pretty girls."
"Hey."
"He knew what he wanted."
"Pretty girls?"
He nods. "It got him into trouble sometimes." His eyes flit to the window. The dark sky. The deep blue Hudson. "A lot of times."
The view is unbelievable, but I don't want to look at the city. I want to watch him.
No, I want to pull him back to the room.
To me.
"What did he say about the book?" I ask.
Adam turns to me. Slips back into his memory. "He didn't read a classic, so I named a few books I read when I was his age. Harry Potter. Percy Jackson. Still, he shakes his head. And holds it up proudly." He holds the book in the air. "The greatest book of all time, Detectives in Togas."
"Did you read it?"
"Eventually."
"Is it the greatest book of all time?"
"No. But it's Bash. Troublemakers determined to get their way. He kept this copy for years. Took it with him to boarding school, college, his first apartment. He gave it to me when I moved here. So I'd finally have something good in my library."
"That's sweet."
"He didn't want to let on how much he cared, but he did."
"You're the same way."
"Maybe."
"Maybe? You spent three hours in a car to have dinner with your brother," I say. "And you'll spend another three on the way back."
"I had to come into the city today. Quarterly meeting."
"You can't skip them?"
He nods. "I missed the first one, after the accident. People talked. A few investors pulled out. Liam was sure he could win them back, but…"
"You didn't want to put that burden on him?"
He nods.
"How was it?"
"Difficult."
"I can come with you next time. If that helps." I turn toward him. "At least keep Liam busy."
"He's not as easy to distract as he seems."
"He forgot I existed every time Briar giggled."
"He likes her."
"Is there something between them?" I ask.
"He wouldn't tell me if there was."
"They have that ease with each other," I say. "The ease people have after they've slept together." I can feel it now, with us. One of the walls around his heart is gone. There are plenty left, but I'm a little closer. And a little less scared to reveal myself to him.
