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“Yeah. But it’s true. And it’s simple. I don’t think it requires explaining. But if you need it explained, Grace, I’m in love. I love you. It’s not even difficult for me to say, it’s easy. And if you need me to go online right now and say it in a tweet, fuck yeah. I’ll do it.”
“No, that’s not what I meant. Not really. You say I’m yours, but I don’t feel like yours.”
“Aww.” I squeeze her a little tighter because my heart hurts a little with her admission. “I’m gonna have to make you feel like mine, then?”
“Yeah,” she says in a pouty voice.
“Mmmmm, that I can totally do. Should we go out tonight? It’s not a good idea. The paparazzi will be on you for a while and I’ll probably end up in a fight if they get too close. But I’m happy to take you out.”
She thinks about this for a while and I let her take her time, just stroking her hair and relaxing. Enjoying what we have.
“It really doesn’t scare you?”
“What, sweets?”
“Losing.”
I huff out some air though my nose. “What should I be afraid of losing?”
“Me,” she says with an incredulous tone.
Chapter Thirteen
#AlwaysWantedToBeCharmed
CAN HIS life really have been so charmed? That he has no fear of losing anything? God, what would that be like? “I don’t think I understand you, Asher.”
“Asher?” he asks, sitting up a little straighter so he can look at me. But I turn my head so he can’t. “Why the hell are you calling me Asher now? What did I do?”
“I just can’t relate. And even though I shouldn’t hold it against you, I do. I’m fucking pissed that my life is so fucked up and yours is so perfect.”
“Perfect?” He laughs. I can feel it through his chest. “You know, my whole life people have thought that about me. I’ve heard it so many times I stopped listening. But coming from you, shit. That kinda hurts.”
I scrunch up my face in confusion, but I stay still. I know it’s wrong to assume his life is perfect, but from my perspective, it is. There’s just no comparison.
“You want to know my demons, Grace? Do you need to know my secrets to be able to accept that I’m capable of understanding what you feel? What do you need?”
Do I? Do I need for him to be damaged for me to accept this… whatever this is? And if I do, what does that say about me? That I can only relate to the lost and the tragic?
“Because if that’s what you need, then fine. I have never really articulated it in words before. I’ve never had to,” he says in a whisper as he gives me a squeeze. “No one ever wanted me to justify my personal trauma to prove that I can understand them. But I will.”
“Wait.” I stop him with a hand on his chest. I push myself up so I can look him in the eye. “If this is really fucked up of me, then no.”
“Grace, why does it matter if it’s fucked up? Why do you care what I think of your request?”
“Because I don’t want you to think I’m…” I let out a long sigh. “That he… ruined me. That I’m damaged and dirty and unlovable.”
“Do you think he ruined you? Do you feel damaged and unloved?”
“Yes.” I exhale and then immediately take a huge gulp of air. “Yes, I think all that stuff.”
“Then why do you want to hide that?”
“Because…”
“Because you think I won’t love you?”
“How can you?”
His brows knit together, his confusion so real, painted so clearly on his face, it sets me back a second. “Jesus, I’m not that shallow, Grace. I am a human being.”
“I didn’t mean it—”
“No,” he says, cutting me off harshly. “Enough with the didn’t mean it bullshit. OK?” his eyes dart back and forth as he searches for my intentions.
What are my intentions? “I just…” I have to swallow hard and look away. “I just… need reassurances.”
He shakes his head. “Try again, sweets. I’m not interested in lies, and maybe you’re not lying to me, but you’re lying to yourself. And if we’re in a relationship, that’s the same thing.”
God, now look what I’ve done. He wants me to face things I’ve pushed away for a decade, and he wants me to do it now. What if he leaves if I can’t do it? What if he walks away?
“Did you have a therapist after you came back?”
“Of course. I still have one.”
“So their plan was to let you deny things? Because that’s a new one for me. I think everyone in Hollywood has at least two therapists on the payroll at all times. It’s just something you do. So I’ve had my share of therapy, and none of them ever let me lie to myself.”
“What is it you think I’m lying about?” God, he’s so confusing. Is this about me or him? Or the way I feel about him? Or the way I feel about myself? I don’t get it.
“What really happened to you?”
I shake my head. “I’m not talking about it.”
“Why?”
“Why?” I laugh. “I’m pretty sure you can figure that out.”
“OK, I’ll figure it out for you then. Because you’re in denial.”
“Believe me, Asher, I’m not in denial.”
“And we’re back to Asher again, are we?”
“Jesus, what the hell do you want from me? You want me to tell you what those eight months were like? Why?” I sit all the way up, between his legs, and rest back on my butt with my legs underneath me. “Why would you want to hear that? Why would you want me to say it?”
He reaches up and strokes my cheek. “I don’t want to know that shit, Grace. I don’t want to know any of it. You’re crazy if you think I want to hear you talk about it. I don’t. But you are mixing up my intentions with that experience. You’re not looking forward. You’re stuck in the past.”
I get up off the lounge chair and walk away.
“Where are you going?” he calls out after me.
“Home.”
He’s up next to me, grabbing me by the upper arm and turning me around. “Grace, running away only makes it worse. Just spit the words out.”
“No, that’s not what I meant. Not really. You say I’m yours, but I don’t feel like yours.”
“Aww.” I squeeze her a little tighter because my heart hurts a little with her admission. “I’m gonna have to make you feel like mine, then?”
“Yeah,” she says in a pouty voice.
“Mmmmm, that I can totally do. Should we go out tonight? It’s not a good idea. The paparazzi will be on you for a while and I’ll probably end up in a fight if they get too close. But I’m happy to take you out.”
She thinks about this for a while and I let her take her time, just stroking her hair and relaxing. Enjoying what we have.
“It really doesn’t scare you?”
“What, sweets?”
“Losing.”
I huff out some air though my nose. “What should I be afraid of losing?”
“Me,” she says with an incredulous tone.
Chapter Thirteen
#AlwaysWantedToBeCharmed
CAN HIS life really have been so charmed? That he has no fear of losing anything? God, what would that be like? “I don’t think I understand you, Asher.”
“Asher?” he asks, sitting up a little straighter so he can look at me. But I turn my head so he can’t. “Why the hell are you calling me Asher now? What did I do?”
“I just can’t relate. And even though I shouldn’t hold it against you, I do. I’m fucking pissed that my life is so fucked up and yours is so perfect.”
“Perfect?” He laughs. I can feel it through his chest. “You know, my whole life people have thought that about me. I’ve heard it so many times I stopped listening. But coming from you, shit. That kinda hurts.”
I scrunch up my face in confusion, but I stay still. I know it’s wrong to assume his life is perfect, but from my perspective, it is. There’s just no comparison.
“You want to know my demons, Grace? Do you need to know my secrets to be able to accept that I’m capable of understanding what you feel? What do you need?”
Do I? Do I need for him to be damaged for me to accept this… whatever this is? And if I do, what does that say about me? That I can only relate to the lost and the tragic?
“Because if that’s what you need, then fine. I have never really articulated it in words before. I’ve never had to,” he says in a whisper as he gives me a squeeze. “No one ever wanted me to justify my personal trauma to prove that I can understand them. But I will.”
“Wait.” I stop him with a hand on his chest. I push myself up so I can look him in the eye. “If this is really fucked up of me, then no.”
“Grace, why does it matter if it’s fucked up? Why do you care what I think of your request?”
“Because I don’t want you to think I’m…” I let out a long sigh. “That he… ruined me. That I’m damaged and dirty and unlovable.”
“Do you think he ruined you? Do you feel damaged and unloved?”
“Yes.” I exhale and then immediately take a huge gulp of air. “Yes, I think all that stuff.”
“Then why do you want to hide that?”
“Because…”
“Because you think I won’t love you?”
“How can you?”
His brows knit together, his confusion so real, painted so clearly on his face, it sets me back a second. “Jesus, I’m not that shallow, Grace. I am a human being.”
“I didn’t mean it—”
“No,” he says, cutting me off harshly. “Enough with the didn’t mean it bullshit. OK?” his eyes dart back and forth as he searches for my intentions.
What are my intentions? “I just…” I have to swallow hard and look away. “I just… need reassurances.”
He shakes his head. “Try again, sweets. I’m not interested in lies, and maybe you’re not lying to me, but you’re lying to yourself. And if we’re in a relationship, that’s the same thing.”
God, now look what I’ve done. He wants me to face things I’ve pushed away for a decade, and he wants me to do it now. What if he leaves if I can’t do it? What if he walks away?
“Did you have a therapist after you came back?”
“Of course. I still have one.”
“So their plan was to let you deny things? Because that’s a new one for me. I think everyone in Hollywood has at least two therapists on the payroll at all times. It’s just something you do. So I’ve had my share of therapy, and none of them ever let me lie to myself.”
“What is it you think I’m lying about?” God, he’s so confusing. Is this about me or him? Or the way I feel about him? Or the way I feel about myself? I don’t get it.
“What really happened to you?”
I shake my head. “I’m not talking about it.”
“Why?”
“Why?” I laugh. “I’m pretty sure you can figure that out.”
“OK, I’ll figure it out for you then. Because you’re in denial.”
“Believe me, Asher, I’m not in denial.”
“And we’re back to Asher again, are we?”
“Jesus, what the hell do you want from me? You want me to tell you what those eight months were like? Why?” I sit all the way up, between his legs, and rest back on my butt with my legs underneath me. “Why would you want to hear that? Why would you want me to say it?”
He reaches up and strokes my cheek. “I don’t want to know that shit, Grace. I don’t want to know any of it. You’re crazy if you think I want to hear you talk about it. I don’t. But you are mixing up my intentions with that experience. You’re not looking forward. You’re stuck in the past.”
I get up off the lounge chair and walk away.
“Where are you going?” he calls out after me.
“Home.”
He’s up next to me, grabbing me by the upper arm and turning me around. “Grace, running away only makes it worse. Just spit the words out.”
