Page 38 of Edge of Desire

“Don’t shed any tears, Avery. It’s all in the past.”

“But, Preston, the things you did for your job. It angers me that you had to live that way.”

“I chose it for the most part.”

“I don’t believe that. I think you made a conscious choice to become an agent, yes. But if you could do it all over again, would you change it?”

“Hell, yes. I would’ve gone to law school and been a boring lawyer. My dad would still be alive right now.”

She squeezed her eyes together, but a few tears still escaped, leaving trails down her cheeks. I swiped them away with the pads of my thumbs.

She grasped my wrist and said, “Preston, I don’t think any less of you because of what they did to you.”

I zeroed in on her eyes, trying to read everything that was there. I saw pain, sadness, and something else that I couldn’t define. At the risk of pushing her away, I knew I had to put everything out there. If I didn’t do it now, there would never be another time.

“Avery, you’ve been put in a terrible situation. It’s because of me and for that I’m sorry. To say it’s disrupted your life is an understatement. You’ve also put a great deal of trust in me, in more ways than one, so you deserve all the truth. My life and body aren’t fit for a normal person. Not just because of what happened to me in prison. That’s part of it, yes. But, ever since then, I’ve chosen only to be with ...” This was so difficult to say. I swallowed the fat lump in my throat and forced the words from my mouth. “I’ve only been with prostitutes. I’m not worthy of someone like you.”

Every bit of color drained from her beautiful face. Her eyes nearly popped out of her head. I gazed at her for a few seconds and then stood up. Her reaction was what I guessed it would be.

“Now you understand why I see myself the way I do. You represent everything that’s good about the world and I’m the opposite.I haven’t allowed myself to be with any other kind of woman, besides sex workers, since I was in prison. You deserve much more than someone like me.” I dropped my head and massaged the ache in my neck.

In a small voice, she asked, “Weren’t you afraid of getting HIV, or other things?”

Raising my head, my eyes locked with hers. God, I hated opening up with her, giving her all the ugly details. “I was cautious and used protection. I also get tested every time, so I’m healthy, Avery.”

“I see.”

Silence permeated the air around us as I got up to refill my glass. I’d placed the bottle of wine in the wine cooler, so I was bent over, retrieving it when I felt a hand on my back. That was not a good thing. I had a flashback to my days in prison, days when I would be attacked, tied down, and then raped.

My mind and body switched into overdrive. As I stood up, my arm flew out and grabbed my offender by the throat, pushing him against the wall. The other arm locked in place over his diaphragm, cutting off his air supply. It took a couple of seconds for me to realize I had Avery in a deadly body lock. All I saw was terror when I looked at her, but she couldn’t speak because I was choking her.

“Fuck! Fuck!” I shouted as I quickly released her. She immediately bent in half as her hands came to her face and she sucked air into her lungs.

“Are you okay?”

She didn’t answer me right away. She just kept gulping in air.

“Avery, please say something. Just tell me you’re okay.”

She shook from head to toe, and I felt like a total shit. Then she did something unexpected. She straightened up and grabbed the open wine bottle. At first I thought she was going to whack me with it. She didn’t. She raised it to her mouth and guzzled it until it was empty. I’d never seen a woman do that before and I could only gape at her. When she finished it, she set it down on the counter and wiped her mouth with her sleeve.

“That’s better. Now, as for what just happened.”

“God, I’m …”

“Shut up, Preston.” Her eyes dug into mine and I never felt so awful in my life. “You really scared me. For a minute there, I thought you were going to kill me.”

My posture deflated as her words sank in. Would I have killed her? I didn’t think so but couldn’t say for sure. “I know it doesn’t excuse what I did, but it was a flash reaction. I am so fucking sorry.” I rubbed my face, and honestly didn’t know what else to say or do.

She poked me in the chest with her index finger. “Before you say another word, listen here. You need therapy. You can’t go around strangling people and using what happened to you as an excuse.”

That’s what most people told me. The therapy part. How could I possibly share my story with a stranger though? I lied and said, “Yeah, but it didn’t help.”

“Then you went to the wrong therapist. You can even do it online if you want, to make it easy.”

“When I was in prison, they would …”

Her hand came up, palm facing me. “I’m done listening to that. I know you went through some terrible times in there, but are you going to keep living your life like this, or are you going to do something about it?” Then she turned and grabbed another bottle of wine out of the cooler, looked at it, then me. “You got any liquor?”

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