Page 22 of The Amendment

“No,” he cut me off.

“Wha—”

“No. I can’t understand that.”

“Peter—”

He scowled, looking over his shoulder at me for a second. He was staring at me as if I disgusted him. “You’re perfect, okay? You’re perfect and put together, and you never lose control of yourself, you never break down. You never lose your cool. I’m not like you.”

“That… That’s not entirely true. And, even if it was, I never expected you to be like me.” I liked knowing that was how he saw me, despite it being untrue. “I want you to be like you.”

“But you can’t understand it. Even if I tell you what it’s like, unless you’ve lived it, you can’t understand what it’s like. You’ll just think I’m crazy. You’ll realize it’s been a mistake to stay with me. It’s better to keep you in the dark. To keep you on that side of the wall.”

I slid across the bed toward him, placing a hand on his back, but he shied away. “Is that what you think?”

“It’s what I know.”

I moved to sit next to him, pulling his chin and giving him no choice but to look at me. “Peter, you’re wrong. I may seem put together, but it’s only because that’s what’s always been expected of me. I never had any choice but to keep pretending like I’m perfect. Like everything’s perfect. My mother put me in a fat camp at age seven. I was seven years old, I barely had any understanding of body image,but already I was told that I wasn’t good enough. Normal enough. From there, it was a constant state of worry. She was always fussing over my hair, highlighting it and straightening the slightest frizz. I never felt perfect—not then and not now.”

I shook my head. When he didn’t reply, I went on. “And the way I coped—bingeing and purging with food, running through my neighborhood every single day until my feet bled and I’d burned off every calorie I’d consumed, pretending to be perfect, pretending I enjoyed it—it wasn’t healthy. I’ve tried my hardest to be the opposite of who my mother is. I don’t talk to the kids about their bodies or their appearances. For a long time, I thought the only person I’ve tried to control was myself. But then, after the Stefan thing, I started to see patterns. I realized then, the things I thought I was fixing, the ways I tried to keep things perfect—that was me controlling you, all without ever even realizing it. I thought I was being kind by keeping things in order. It was my way of showing you I loved you. Showing the kids that I loved them. But it wasn’t any better than what my mom did. Not really.” I sighed, pinching the bridge of my nose.

“Oh, Ains, that’s not true—”

“It is. The truth is, I always thought I would do better than she had. But I haven’t.” My body revolted against the confession, my skin cold, mouth dry. I’d never allowed myself to admit my darkest fear until that moment.

“You’re not your mother.” He seemed shocked, his jaw slack. His eyes showed a seriousness that warmed the pit of my stomach. “And you’re not controlling. You’ve done what you had to do. It’s because of you that we have suchgood kids. They’re kind, they get good grades, they never get into real trouble. Trust me, they didn’t get any of that from me.”

“You have a dark side to you, I won’t deny that. But youarekind. Do you remember…when Dylan was first learning to walk, and you went out and bought all of those padded corner guards and Styrofoam? You had the house coated in them. All to protect him.”

“Of course I did. I love our kids.”

“You always have. And what about the Christmas gifts you buy for the people at work? Or the way you always stop when we notice someone broken down on the side of the road. There are so many different versions of who you are…” I rubbed my hand across his arm, and this time, he didn’t pull away. “And I love each and every one.”

His guard had come down, if only by a tiny bit. “I want to be better for you. For the kids. I swear to you I’ve tried. It’s just…sometimes I lose control. I’ve…it’s like…” He held his hands out, palms up, fingers bent like claws as if he were trying to grip the thought from thin air. Finally, he cut himself off, shaking his head.

“Tell me what it’s like,” I insisted. “Please tell me. I won’t judge you…or…or fear you. I just want to understand it the best I can.”

“How will you ever be able to understand it when I can’t even understand it?”

“Maybe I can help with that. And, if we can understand why you do it, maybe we can find a way to…” I didn’t want to sayfix you,which was the phrase on the tip of my tongue. Though it was my nature to fix everything in our life, maybe the solution to this problem was justletting things happen as they would. To fight against my very nature, as painful as it was, just as I was asking Peter to fight against his. “To make things easier for you.”

“Easier how?” He seemed intrigued.

“I don’t know until you tell me what you know. What you do. Tell me everything and let me help you work through it all. No judgment. No fighting.”

He groaned, hanging his head. “You don’t know what you’re asking me.”

“I do. I know it’s a lot, but I need you to trust me.” He met my eyes warily. “Like I’m trusting you.”

He seemed to be contemplating, then huffed in a big breath as if preparing to head into battle. “Okay, well, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“I won’t.”

He ran a palm over his face. “Well, you… I mean, you know the gist of it. I…I lose control. It can be the smallest thing that sets me off, and suddenly, I can’t stop it. I can’t help myself. The only thing that makes me feel better…that makes me feel like I have any control, any power—”

“So, it’s about power for you? Not attraction?”

I heard the scowl in his voice before it appeared on his face, as if it were the most ridiculous suggestion in the world. “Yes. God, yes, Ains. It’s never been about attraction. I only want to…to feel powerful.” He shook his head. “I sound ridiculous. I can’t explain it.”

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