Page 39 of Edge of Desire

“Over there.” I pointed to a cabinet. She opened it and took out a bottle of Jameson, then opened it and drank it straight out of the bottle. Did she have an alcohol problem? She noticed the question in my gaze.

“Hey, stop judging me. I almost died a few minutes ago. You’re lucky I’m standing here talking to you.”

She hit the nail on the head. Now, I was the one whose lungs wouldn’t work. I stepped out on the back deck to get my head straight. Would this shitshow ever end? The idea of how I could’ve seriously injured her set my guts on fire and it wouldn’t stop. What kind of man acted like this?

The cool evening air was heaven against my burning skin. I let the breeze fan my face for a few more moments before turning around to go back inside. She must’ve followed me because there she stood, leaning against the house with her arms wrapped around her midsection.

“How often does this happen?” she asked me. Her voice was no longer condemning.

“It depends.”

“On what?”

“On whether or not someone surprises me like you did.”

“What can I do to help? Other than suggest therapy.”

What person in their right mind would want to help someone who just tried to choke the shit out of them? “How can you even ask me that after what I just did to you?”

She huffed out a breath. “There you go again.”

“What do you mean?”

“You focus on the negative and not the positive. Listen to me carefully. You had a shit experience, but you survived. You’re alive to see the next sunrise, to enjoy this beautiful place, to breathe the fresh air. You should value every day and not replay your prison experience. That’s what therapy will do. It’ll help you not react the way you did. It’ll help you deal with your PTSD. I’m not making light of what happened to you in any way. But, Preston, you can’t keep living the nightmare.”

I felt her hands on my shoulders, softly at first and then she began to rub circles on my back. She had to feel how tense I was for I was coiled up like a snake, ready to strike. But her hands were magic, massaging my shoulders, then my neck, and finally my back.

“Preston,” she whispered, “can you turn around, please?”

I didn’t really want to because I was ashamed of what I’d done to her, but I didn’t want to refuse either.

When I faced her, she stepped closer and hugged me. It was an automatic reaction to hug her back, and it felt natural to have her in my arms.

“How about another glass of wine?”

Not knowing what to say or do, I simply nodded. We went back inside, she handed me the glass of wine, and asked if I was up for eating dinner. My stomach couldn’t handle food right now, so I asked if we could wait. Then she told me all about Avery.

Avery was hilarious. She had a plethora of comical stories that kept me entertained. The best one though was the story about her vibrator in the airport. It was the same one I saw in her hotel room.

"I have to meet this friend of yours.”

“Melissa? Just be careful when you do. She might put you in a wrestling hold.”

We talked about her family and how tight she was with them. She and her mom had a hot and cold relationship. I blame her for the terrible body image Avery had of herself.

“I don’t even know if she’s noticed that I’m gone.”

“Do you really think that?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. Every time I was around her, all she did was tell me I was this or that, but nothing I did was ever good enough for her.”

That made me not care for her mother and I hadn’t even met her.

“She made life difficult. I never had her support like my brothers did. If they wanted to do something, she was all in. All she wanted from me was grandkids. In this day and age, who wants only that for their kids?”

“Avery?”

“Yeah?”

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