Page 35 of Age of Shade

It hasn’t worked, though. Not really. The situation I’m in now is a direct result of where I came from and my bid to escape it. I’m proud of how far I’ve come—really I am—but now I want more. I wanthim, and I’m so sick and tired of holding back.

My happy place, the place I feel safest, isn’t in Doctor Roth’s office anymore. It’s right here, curled beneath the covers in his little apartment with the warmth of his naked body seeping into mine as morning light filters in through the blinds. I’ve been up for hours, staring blankly at the cracked plaster of the wall across from me, turning everything over in my head.

In moments like this, I feel a million miles removed from the night we met. I’m not cold or numb or lost anymore, because this man had my back. Not once, not twice, but every single day for the last three years. He deserves the truth, even if it shatters me to tell it.

I’ve always told myself that I am brave when I need to be… Well, I need to be now. Last night was the closest I’ve ever come to being happy, and the only thing more painful than the thought of losing everything is holding myself back from feeling like that every day.

How long have I been living in this half-alive state, standing in the shade when the sun is steps away? Ages.

After hours of thinking, of turning the situation over in my mind as Asher holds me, I keep coming to the same conclusion. By the time he stirs, mumbling words I can’t hear as he gathers me close, something has slotted into place in my chest—a grim sort of acceptance.

“Shouldn’t you be at the coffee shop?” he murmurs, voice raspy with sleep.

I shake my head, still staring at the spider web of cracks in his plaster wall. Someone tried to cover the whole mess up with a thick layer of paint, but it’s only a matter of time before it all comes crumbling down.

Yeah, I won’t treat my relationship with this incredible person the same way his shitty landlord treated these walls.

“I texted my boss and said I had food poisoning.” My fingers drift over the hair scattering the back of his arm, my throat tight. I’ve never called in before. Ever. The loss of income sucks, but today I just couldn’t stomach dragging myself across town to serve shitty burnt coffee and crappy donuts while this brand-new resolution hangs over my head.

Asher’s chest shakes in a silent laugh as he pulls me closer, pressing a bristly kiss to my bare shoulder. “I get you all to myself? For a full day?”

God, he sounds so happy. It’s tempting to roll my hips back, to grind my ass against his morning wood and lose myself in the chemistry that’s always come so easily for us. Maybe we’d spend all day in bed, touching each other. Maybe we wouldn’t have to say a single word.

Instead, I exhale shakily, my eyes still glued to that cracked plaster. “Can we talk?”

Asher stills. “Is everything okay?” There’s trepidation in his voice—fear—like he’s afraid I’m about to break up with him or something. As if it never occurred to him thathemight want to end this. Maybe it hasn’t.

“There are things I haven’t told you. About… me.” Granted, I don’t have much experience (anyexperience) in telling people my story, but there aren’t exactly a ton of ways to sugar coat it or ease into it. Even thinking about where to start sends coldness through me. Closing my suddenly burning eyes, I focus on the parts of my body where my skin is pressed against Asher’s, allowing it ground me.

He doesn’t say a word, but his hold on me tightens, like he knows I need it without me having to ask.

“I was born about an hour upstate. My mom was a drug addict. If my father was involved at any point, I don’t remember him. She bounced between men a lot. Most of them were dealers or other users, and none of them were kind.” I pause, refocusing on Asher’s warmth and not the countless horrible memories threatening to bubble to the surface.

I’m here now. I’m safe.

“There was a lot of moving around. Sometimes I went to school, sometimes I didn’t. Sometimes my mom was interested in me, but mostly she wasn’t. I definitely remember social workers getting involved a few times. She must have cared a little, because she always made sure I was clean and the apartment was okay before the people with clipboards showed up.” I close my eyes, remembering the probing questions from the professionally dressed strangers that I was too afraid to answer. “Even then, I knew life wasn’t supposed to be so hard, but it was all I knew.”

Behind me, Asher’s body has gone tense, and I can tell he’s trying to keep his breathing even without much success. For some reason, the knowledge that my pain is having this kind of effect on him makes me feel even worse, and it’s all I can do to not break down.

There are plenty of terrible parts, but the worst part of this story that I was dreading most is here. “The drug use got worsewhen I was about eight. When I was ten she overdosed. I… found her one morning. The guy we were staying with had booked it, and the house was so cold I just thought she was sleeping.”

I feel the burn of the cold even now. It’s so real that a tremor runs through my body, like I’m there again and not safe in bed with a man who adores me. Asher presses his lips to my shoulder, and I swear I feel his muscles quake too. “I’m so sorry,” he whispers against my skin, his voice breaking.

Have I ever connected with anyone enough for my grief to become theirs as well?

We lay in silence for a long time while Asher holds me so tightly it’s almost painful, but I don’t want him to loosen his arms.

I’m here now.

I’m safe.

I’m safe.

I’m safe.

He doesn’t ask me to speak or ask any questions. It takes a long time to free myself from that horrible, icy morning, but finally I do.

I realize that I can keep going, and when I begin to speak, my voice is stronger than before. “It was foster care after that. None of my foster parents were bad people, I was the problem… I was soangry.” I shake my head miserably, filled with shame for how I’d once treated perfectly nice, kind people who opened their home to me. “I think I wanted to be in control, for once. I pushed them away. I broke rules and acted out. I was a little asshole. It seemed like it was easier, you know? To decide you wanted to go instead of waiting to be sent away. I smoked, I drank, and I ruined things for the sake of it. My life was out of control.”

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