Page 66 of Darkened Promises

“Yes.” He laughs. His comfortingly familiar blue eyes crinkle as they meet mine. “But I’m not going to hide anything in case you don’t like me. It wouldn’t make things genuine between us. So, in the spirit of honesty…I’m very familiar with the fear of you not feeling the same or wanting to be with me.” His ears deepen to a fiery red, the colour more prominent across his fair, freckled skin.

“You do a much better job of hiding it. You never seem worried. But to match your honesty, I definitely want this,” I answer, feeling my skin heat to match his.

Apparently, we even embarrass the same too.

The utensil in his hands drops, clattering into the bowl, then he strides around the island and spins my stool. My chest squeezes as his hands cup the nape of my neck, and he tilts my face so we’re a breath apart.

“Thank you,” he whispers. The words tickle across my lips, so it takes a second for me to process them.

“For what?” I’m far too distracted to have him looking so intently at me with that much adoration.

“For wanting me,” he replies, closing the distance and kissing me. But my mind’s still whirring around what he said.

He pulls back. My mouth turns dry and the air is sucked from my lungs as I attempt to swallow. It doesn’t feel right to leave it like this, to not reply and confess my feelings for him too. Because it’s merely brushing the surface to say I only “want him”. I know it’s more than that, that my feelings run much deeper. Although I can’t seem to get the words out, unable to reciprocate the confession he so easily gave me a couple of days ago.

Instead, I smile. It’s feeble and brittle.

“Always.” It isn’t a lie, and it’s easier to promise than admitting I love him too, because my love doesn’t feel good enough for him or any of them. Everything within me still has an oily taint coating it. His fingers are still tangled and twisted inside my mind and emotions.

It’s stupid, but telling him I love him would make what we have feel contaminated by his presence.

Logically, I know that doesn’t make sense, and yet a louder part within me is desperately trying to preserve the good things left in my life, and it’s screaming that I need to keep them away from all the dark things within me.

I’m saved when a notification pings on the replacement phone Nate got for me. He’d told me to keep it close by today as he had to go out to a job. It’s the first time he’s left me, other than to pop out to the gym, and I’m not sure who was more anxious about it.

Before I can open the first notification, another one pops up, warning me of my first therapy session in five minutes.

Crapsicles.

Bry glances at his watch. “It’s almost time. Where did you want to do it?”

“Nate’s room, I think.” I release an unsteady exhale, trying to blow out the building nerves that coil tighter and tighter.

“Okay.” He nods, filling a large glass with water and handing it to me. “If you need anything, I’ll be just out here.”

Too distracted to say anything more than “Thank you,” I slip off the stool and go into Nate’s room. I settle myself on the bed, with my back against the headboard, legs crossed and phone positioned in front of me. Time has run out to over-think it, so I join the video call.

I’m so not ready for this.

“By not talking about things and pushing away your thoughts and feelings, you’re merely avoiding them. Thoughts are persistent, and they won’t simply disappear,” Linda tells me, her tone soft and understanding like it always is.

“What if I’m not comfortable talking about it? I don’t want to keep thinking and reliving it.” I sigh, now at the point where my mind is closing down and the mental exhaustion’s a heavy weight. It’s been a lot of talking, more so on Linda’s side than mine.

It’s been less daunting talking to her—well, at least marginally so—than it would’ve been with a complete stranger. Even though she doesn’t seem much older than mid-forties, she makes me feel emotionally supported. I may not want to talk about things, but I know that if I did, then I would be able to without judgement.

“The key thing is that you aren’t reliving it. They’re thoughts and memories, but you’re not there anymore. I’m not asking you to talk about everything at once, but it is important to understand that avoiding your emotions and thoughts won’t make them go away.”

“I know.” I fidget, finding my hands easier to focus on.

This isn’t the first time she’s said something similar to me. Avoidance has been a habit I’ve reverted to in the past. We’d worked on it to an extent, although it’s still easier to shove things in a box and ignore them, rather than deal with the messy emotions and pain.

“What’s making you uncomfortable?” she queries. Her dark bobbed hair barely moves as her head tilts slightly.

“What if he finds me and I’m back there again?” The words are quiet. The fear of voicing and giving them life almost strangles me.

“You’re fearing something that hasn’t happened. Your mind is going straight into predicting instead of focusing on the facts. The police are now aware of him. They’re investigating and looking for him, and you are here, talking with me. You can’t fear everything that might happen.”

“That’s easier said than done,” I say, twisting my finger around the strands of my ponytail.