Page 60 of Vine

As I trudged back to the vineyard, I mulled over Colette’s words, recalling all the times I’d accidentally exposed my arms and how negatively it made me feel. Éti wasn’t the first, but for every compassionate woman like her, a nastier one was never far away, ready to take her place. With a judging gaze, making me feel humiliated, exposed, and small, wanting to vanish. Wanting to cut again, for temporary relief, even though it violated the social norms we all believed in. ThatIbelieved in. And so the cycle continued, shame preventing me from looking another person straight in the eye. Wanting to sink into the groundand disappear. Directing my focus inward, viewing myself in a negative light. And cutting again for more temporary relief.

Maybe a cocaine addiction or alcohol would have been simpler.

I fell into Max’s arms, overcome with the familiar deep fatigue a session of raking up all my emotional shit brought with it. Muscle aches would start later, like I’d been run over by a bus. I wasn’t ready to handle his anxious questions. Fortunately, none were forthcoming. Perhaps Colette had forewarned him, or perhaps he remembered how he’d felt himself.

Apparently, hot chocolate, a fuzzy blanket, and a snuggly dog were the cure.

“There’s this amazing podcast we could listen to, about whether spiders dream,” he suggested when I was draped across his lap to his exacting standards.

“Yeah?” I said sleepily. “Well, I have nightmares about spiders, so maybe they could do one on me for spiders to listen to.”

“That would be boring,” answered Max cheerfully. “Lots of people hate spiders. And then they talk about these ant super-colonies that span entire countries. Which sounds very cool.”

Already, my walking, talking, brawny, antianxiety medicine was kicking in. I snuggled deeper into the blanket and yawned. “Stick it on, big man. Hit me with it.”

I woke hours later, in bed, with Max curved around me like a shield. “Are you okay, Caspian?”

“Yeah.”

“Your appointment with Colette. Did it help?”

I thought about it before answering. While sipping coffee in her little kitchen, I’d formulated some massive decisions. Perhaps down to a mixture of Colette and Max combined, herkitchen providing the space to put them into coherent words. “Some."

“That’s good.” He gave me a tight squeeze. “And the cutting. Did she help with that.”

“No, not really.” If only it were that simple. “It’s an addiction, Max. Like smoking or cocaine. I think I’ll be tempted to cut forever, on and off. Who knows? But we talked about the shame. How it makes me feel. And how the TV work and the toxic people surrounding me don’t help. If I get rid of those, then my need to cut will diminish. She says they slash at my self-esteem. They chop down my self-worth, giving me such a negative view of myself."

Only his breathing, warm against my neck, filled the silence. And then, “I think those cuts to your self-worth go deeper than the ones on your arms.”

The best adventure stories often began withall of a sudden. Just as the most important turning points often come at the most unexpected times and in the most unexpected of ways. The most astonishing people are the ones you never anticipated could astonish you.

I twisted in Max’s firm hold to stare at him. At a kind, simple man and my strongest weapon. Murmuring his simple, clean truth, like it had been so obvious but took someone with his own life pared down to only the very best parts to see it.

His open smile back at me was filled with so much fucking honesty I wanted to crawl inside it. I did the next best thing; our mouths met, and he pushed me onto my back, so I was beneath his hands. And then he made love to me as if I was rare and precious, stroking me and petting me and whispering sweet nothings like I might fall apart if he didn’t.

And, as I made my own love in return, I decided taking a chance on loving him might turn out to be the best thing I never planned.

The show must go on.A mantra Jonas lived by, even when my life was shooting up in flames. When carrying on felt like a superhuman achievement. Thus, when I stepped out of Max’s warm embrace into the cool chill of my faltering career, it came as no surprise that nothing had changed during my two-day absence. Though the vines had grown. The grapes were plumper and softer, hard green clusters softening to fleshy, juicy, tempting bites of summer sweetness. I didn’t recommend tasting them—wine grapes were table grapes embittered, sour second cousins.

I caught up with Emma, hidden in the depths of one of the middle rows, defoliating clusters and topping shoots. Saddled with the hot, arduous labour of two, thanks to me.

“Hey,” I said in a hushed voice so as not to frighten her. “I’m back.”

Her eyes narrowed, she nodded a cautious welcome. Her face was drawn. “Hi.”

I stepped closer. “Sorry I didn’t come and find you sooner. I’ve… um… had a rough couple of days.”

“Are you well enough to be here?”

“Yes.” I blew out a breath. “I think so. Though I don’t have a lot of choice, really, do I? I’m camping out at Max’s. He’s been great. Really great. I don’t know what I’d have done without him, to be honest.” Her tool bag lay open on the ground at her feet, and I bent to select a pair of secateurs. “May I?”

She nodded. “Yes, please. Do the alternates to me along this row. Look, Caspian. What happened. I’m sorry. So sorry. Like you wouldn’t believe. I had no idea he’d do that; I was such a bloody idiot to let…”

“It’s okay. It’s not your fault, and I’m not cross with you. I had no idea either.”

“You’re probably aware he’s been at it again.”

Of course he fucking had. Strangely, I didn’t care as much as I imagined. “No. I’ve deleted all my social media.” I huffed a laugh. “Best thing I ever did. Do I want to know what he’s been saying about me?”

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