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This is the part where I admit I’m a hypocrite. I’m a Grade-A bastard. I hold Lindsay to a double standard. Where I have one set of rules for the rest of the world and a very different set for me.
I do.
I know I do.
Because I want Lindsay to confess to me and trust in me and lean on me and let me protect her and love her.
But I’m a liar.
I lie to her every day, every second, every breath.
Every kiss.
Salma shifts her weight again, blinking slowly, just waiting. The first seven sessions we had together, years ago, involved nothing but silence.
Mine and hers.
It took seven hours for me to realize she wasn’t going away. That she wouldn’t judge.
Didn’t help that I had no choice. My commanding officer threatened me if I didn’t go to therapy.
For seven sessions I stared at any object in the room and tried to ignore the screaming in my veins.
And on the eighth hour, I broke. I gave in.
I talked.
And didn’t stop talking for nearly a hundred sessions.
“How do you feel about that, Drew?”
Ah, there it is. That old chestnut. How do you feel about that, Drew? Salma has asked me that countless times, and I’ve answered it, mostly with the truth. Mostly. Sometimes I lie at first, but the truth eventually wiggles its way in.
Now? Not so sure what’s about to come out of me.
“I feel like Lindsay’s safety is my priority. She’s struggling enough with her own baggage from four years ago. I don’t need to add mine to the load.”
“You are very protective of her.”
“Of course I am. There’s no way those assholes are hurting her again.”
“Is there a serious chance of that happening?”
“Yes,” I bark, looking away. I rub one eye, then sigh. “They’re directly threatening her with text messages and covert communications.”
Her eyebrows arch. “I see. Including the picture of you that you mentioned in your voice mail.”
“I can’t tell her.” I plant my elbows on my knees and rake my hair with both sets of fingers, head down, fighting nausea. “Not yet.”
Not ever.
“Can’t, or won’t?”
“Does the difference matter?”
“You tell me, Drew.” She smooths her hands over her skirt, making it cover her knees, and leans forward, elbows on her thigh bones. The move is slick and designed to be unobtrusive, but for some reason it reminds me of Lindsay.
Everything reminds me of Lindsay.
