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Four years of therapy and I still don’t have an answer to those questions.
Five miles into the run and my legs are crying out for relief, but I keep going. No matter how high I turn up my music’s volume, I hear his footsteps behind me, the shuffle of dried leaves on the path, the sound of his steady, but increasingly labored, breathing cutting through the earbuds. I can’t drown him out. Can’t lose him. Can’t stop remembering he’s there.
Maybe that’s just it.
Maybe that’s the answer.
Chapter 12
I halt suddenly, the epiphany so strong it’s like it sucked all the kinetic energy out of me. A wall of muscle named Drew slams into me from behind, pitching me to the ground, my cheek in mulch and dirt, his entire body pressed against mine from the back.
And God help me, it feels so good.
“Oh, shit,” he mutters, jumping up. The chill from the loss of his heat is like another betrayal. I’m not sure who betrayed whom, though. Am I betraying myself by feeling all this for him after what he did?
I am breathing so hard it feels like sandpaper lines my throat and nose, but I stay on the ground, face down, knowing if I turn over he’ll read every emotion I have for him in my face and I will be revealed for the fool that I am.
“Lindsay! You okay? Do I need to get a medic in here?”
“This isn’t a war zone, Drew. A medic?”
“You sure about that?”
“What?”
“That this isn’t a war zone?” He sits down on a giant round rock on the edge of the path, planting his elbows on his knees, drinking from a small water bottle in his hand.
I turn my face, the smooth, cool dirt like a caress. I look at him. Study him. He’s become the kind of man I always imagined he’d become. So strong. Commanding. Powerful in a graceful way, like he owns the world and has authority because it’s natural for him. Not because he’s ambitious, but because he’s called to step up to the occasion.
“You see any guns around here, other than the one on your belt?” I mutter.
“You know what I mean.”
“Yeah. I do.”
He blinks at me, his breathing slowing down, his body relaxed as he stretches his calves. They’re so defined, the muscles curving into a heart right above the Achilles tendon. I remember touching those legs. Running my palms along the sleek muscles. Exploring his body back in a time when every touch was a promise. When undressing was an exciting game. When being naked together in bed was about boundaries and crossing them one by one in a playful passionate way, as we made our way towards an intimacy that needed to be cultivated.
Four years is a long, long time.
“I’m not here to hurt you,” he blurts out.
Huh?
I finally roll up and sit, my knees red and scraped. I brush them off and look at him. His eyes burn with so many questions. I’ll bet mine do, too.
“You already did,” I reply.
He winces. I stand. This conversation is dangerous. Being alone on this path is risky. Drew won’t hurt me. I know that in my soul. The danger and risk isn’t the normal kind.
The danger and risk is that I’ll let myself fall for him again.
Fall for a guy who let those monsters do unspeakable things to me.
How messed up am I to still want him? What kind of woman still has feelings for a man who would do what Drew did to me? Am I that self-destructive? The therapists on the island said yes. They told me that while it was normal to have feelings for Drew, it wasn’t normal to hold on to them.
I cling to those feelings. Four years of clinging makes my fingers ache, and yet here I am. Here I am, now, alone with him and looking at him with a pleading in my eyes that must scream out to him.
Tell me why.
