Page 45 of Sterling Touch
Vale rolls her eyes and tries to pull out of my grasp again, but I hold tight. Tighter than I’ve ever tried to hold onto someone. Whether I openly admit it or not, Vale is important to me.Becauseshe is the younger sister of my former friend, and as such, once felt like family. But also, because she’s recently been patient and kind toward me. She’s shown me nothing but compassion and consideration.
I don’t deserve her attention or even her time. But I want it.
I want to give, not just take from her.
“Yes.” I meet her eyes, steeling my gaze, so she knows I’m serious. I want to understand.
“If I have touch aversion—haphephobia—as you explainedabout me, what do you have? Or don’t you have? That makes . . .it. . . difficult?”
Another thought hits hard, that I hadn’t considered before. “Did I hurt you?” My voice cracks, like I’ve been punched in the gut, taken unaware and can’t breathe. I sit up straighter, squeezing her hand with fear that I did harm her.
“No.” Her instant answer is a poor consolation. There was still something missing between us. And while I know a lot of what was lacking, I still think there is something deeper.
She’s not afraid of touching someone. She’s a massage therapist. But is she afraid ofbeingtouched?
Glancing down at where our hands are joined, and then watching her gaze upon our connected fingers, another thought strikes.
I dip my head so I can get her to look at me better. “Is this about your dad?”
Vale gasps, squeezing my hand tighter, while at the same time tugging at my fingers, like she wants me to let go. Or like she wants me to hold harder.
Either way, her head whips upright, her tone sharp. “We aren’t discussing my dad.”
Does she mean presently? Or does she mean ever? Or does she mean about what I know happened with him . . . and her.
“Did he hurt you?” I’m well aware of the history surrounding the Sylvers and their father. The verbal insults to the older set. The physical abuse to the younger ones. Stone wasn’t half as concerned about Vale because her father basically pretended like she didn’t exist.
Poor kid was treated like a ghost. But Stone made certain Vale was seen by him, as did all her brothers. As did me and my family, until I wasn’t around anymore.
“No.” Vale’s voice is low, her gaze lowered once again, staring at our linked hands.
“Vale,” I whisper.
“He never touched me.” Her voice is tight. Harsh and quick and breathless. Maybe he didn’t touch her. But one night, he crawled into her ten-year-old bed. Drunken fool, mistaken room. And all hell broke loose.
Maybe that was the crux. Flint Sylver ignored his only daughter. He wasn’t an affectionate man. Not loving or kind. Not patient or consoling. He hurt his children on a variety of levels, and I have no doubt the abuse caused lasting implications for all of them.
Hell, I know firsthand how abusers behave and the permanent results. In my case, I repel touch. But in Vale’s case . . .
“I want to understand.” She’s helped me in so many ways. I want to help her, if I can.
Then again, why should she trust me with more of her secrets? Why hand me her issues or her troubles? I’ve proven I haven’t been there for her.
Twelve years of silence. She’d been willing to go a dozen more.
I’m not.
And I’ll sit here for my entire session waiting for her to speak. Hell, I’ll give up all my future appointments and just hold her hand until she tells me something, anything.
Eventually, her shoulders sag and her fingers loosen in my grasp. She exhales heavily. “Touch deprivation, that’s what it’s called. It’s when someone longs for touch but gets in their head about it.”
Her eyes flick up to meet mine but quickly divert staring down at my lap instead. She shrugs. “Probably stems from not being hugged enough as a child.” Her voice is placating, but rough. The underlying ache is evident. The lack and absence almost suffocating.
Stone was a great big brother and an amazing mentor for his siblings, but he wasn’t overly affectionate, though certainly his lack was unintentional. What twelve-year-oldboy is overly hugging? Or thirteen, or eighteen, or twenty-two?
Vale’s mother had been the sweet one, from what I remember of her, and Stone felt her loss greatly when she passed away, leaving six siblings below him, including a brand-new baby girl.
Valentine.
