Page 40 of Fear Me Not

“Sometimes. It’s like a dream. Or perhaps a movie I once watched.”

I see an in. “Do you still watch movies, Dov? On your computer?”

If he does, it might mean he has access online, but then again, he could just have them downloaded.

“Not anymore. They don’t make sense to me now.” Lines appear between his eyebrows. “I can’t follow the storylines.”

My heart clenches for him. “I’m sorry.”

I know how it feels to not have access to something. When I see libraries filled with books, I get a strange kind of ache in my chest at the knowledge I’ll never really understand how it feels to get lost in a book. It’s like a homesickness for a place I’ve never been. Yes, there are audiobooks, but it’s not the same as experiencing a book narrated in your own head, for your own imagination to bring those characters and places to life.

He closes his eyes briefly and turns his head. “Don’t be sorry for me, Aspen. I don’t want your pity.”

“I don’t pity you, Dov.”

How can I explain to him that I’m just trying to make a connection with him outside of the bedroom? That I perhaps know more of what he’s feeling than he understands. True, I don’t have a brain injury, but my brain does work differently than others. I’ve known it my entire life, ever since I was a young child when I realized I was different. When all the other children had big groups of friends and were invited to birthday parties, I was always standing on the outskirts. Even when my parents tried to throw me a party, I couldn’t cope with it—the house full of noisy, screaming children, all running around. I remember hiding in my room and my parents having to come and get me. They’d only tried to do for me the same things they’d done for my sister when she was growing up, but while she’d loved and thrived on the attention, I’d shied from it.

Things had gotten even worse as I’d grown older at school and it became clear I wasn’t going to be able to graduate my classes with my peers.

An outcast. Strange. Different. Someone to laugh at, to bully.

The only thing I had going for me as I’d gotten older was how I looked. I guess I should be grateful for that. While I couldn’t connect to the girls, later in my teens, I noticed the attention the boys gave me. Sex was easy. Sex was something I was good at. It wasn’t like I let them go all the way, but I fooled around with them enough to keep them hanging on.

Sure, I probably mistook sex for affection, for connection, and understanding, but it was all I had.

Will sex fix all our problems? Definitely not, but it’s an easier way for me to connect with people than others. To make me feel a part of something rather than standing on the outskirts, peering in, and hoping to be accepted.

I realize I’ve used sex as a way to connect with people, especially these men.

I duck my head. “I should go.”

“You don’t have to.”

I wonder if he’s going to stop me from leaving. He could, if he wanted. Easily. Would he mimic his brother and put me across his knee?

My pussy flutters at the thought.

22

DOV

It’s still a struggle for me to interact with her. It’s easier when she’s sleeping and I don’t have to process all the different ways in which I’m supposed to understand what she’s saying to me. It’s not the words I fight to decipher, but the meaning behind them, the tone and intention, the changes in her facial muscles and her body language.

She says she should go, but is that really what she wants?

I wish I had my brother’s confidence. He tells me that I used to be more confident than him, but I find that hard to believe.

“Do you have internet access, Dov?” she suddenly blurts.

She wants to leave us. My father has warned me of this.

“Why?”

“I just want to know what’s going on in the outside world.”

“What could you need out there? You have everything here.”

Twin spots of color appear in her pale, freckled cheeks. I’ve sat and traced those freckles while she was asleep, joining them one to the other like a star constellation. Her skin is the softest I’ve ever felt, and my fingers itch to touch her again. But I can’t trust myself while she’s awake. What if something happens and I lose control? If she struggles and fights me, and the piece of my brain that’s broken takes over?