Page 29 of His Gift
"Yes."
"I need more than one word, Conrad."
"I don't have more. Yes, I hear your words. But I don't see it as you do. And it sickens me that you think I'm like your uncle... like your parents. All I ever wanted was to care for you. Please, can I hug you? I hate this."
I hug him. Part of me wants to beat some sense into his skull, but the other believes he thought, still thinks, he did nothing wrong. That shouldn't be good, by any means. But for me—with him—it is.
"You were in foster care. How was it?"
"Not so bad. I mean, it was crowded, loud, sometimes scary, but I was lucky. None of the places I landed in had actual issues. Dysfunctional couples, people who were taking advantage of the system to gain money or free help in the house. For someone like me, it wasn't that tough. I didn't enjoy the attempts to adopt me. People who adopt should know better. Should be prepared better. I was emotionally withdrawn, but there must be loads of traumatized kids who can't connect from the very start. I didn't want to be touched, I preferred to be on my own, and honestly, I didn't see the difference between being in foster care or in an actual home. The adoptive parents didn't like that."
"Why did you enroll in the Marines?"
"It was an easy way out. I didn't understand the importance of getting an education. And I could see myself in a regulated environment. If they hadn't discharged me, I'd probably still be a Marine. I'd just have worked hard to rise in ranks and avoid being fucked up by someone utterly incompetent."
"What went on in your mind when you killed my uncle? Or when you decided to beat my ex-husband."
"I didn't go there intending to kill him. He made his bed. What he told me, how proud he was of what he did to you and the danger he posed… I don't believe in souls or the afterlife. I gave him hell where I was sure he'd suffer in it. And your ex-husband deserved an ass-kicking. But he wasn't the one truly responsible. A woman like you would've never married him if it wasn't for your parents' interference."
"So you should suffer the consequences of your actions as well. If I call the cops, it's just dessert, am I right?" I expected him to deny it; instead he caresses my head, my cheek, peppers kisses on my face. Someone should study his fucking brain. "Conrad, what's going on?"
"Every time we talk, I find you more incredible. And yes, I should go to prison for the murder, for beating him. Maybe even for taking you. I won't let that happen. Not only does my skin crawl at the idea of being in prison, which I guess is a pretty normal reaction, but it would also keep me away from you."
"I want you away from me."
"You don't. You have a moral code and everything I did goes against it. I understand. But I don't accept you are attracted to me only because I showed you care. It isn't enough. You are attracted to me because deep down you know what I do, I do because I really care about you. I really want you in my life. I really have a high opinion of you. Have I manipulated you? Maybe yes, but not to the point of making you dumb. You left your husband. If you were that damaged, you'd have stayed. You would'veforgiven him and waited for him to come back to you. You knew he would. It's how men like him are wired."
"Maybe. I still can't accept what you did, so we are at an impasse."
"I can accept an impasse. We can work through it. I know you won't like what I'm about to say, but I've fought hard against myself not to bring you back to my house. It's all I want. No more distractions, no more long hours away from you. I didn't do it. I won't do it. It shows that what you said had an impact on me. It's progress. A step forward."
I snort. So the bar is set this low? Not being kidnapped again is supposed to make me happy?
"I haven't changed for anything or anyone before, Harper. Ever. You didn't like what I said, as predicted, but at least give me that. I've been on my own my whole life. I hate changes. You're so special that I'm willing to uproot everything just for you. And to make you understand me better, I don't enjoy violence. I did what I had to do. It wasn't exciting or rewarding. It might not make sense to you, but that's how it is for me."
In a roundabout way, again, it makes sense. His messed-up brain makes perfect sense to him. At the same time, I’ve grown to crave his vision of us. I'm addicted to his stubborn refusal to let me go. When he saw me, he felt emotions for the first time in his life, and when I met him, I felt emotions I'd never felt before. In a matter of days. Maybe less.
"I need time to think."
"You can have all the time you want. But I want to be here. With you. I won't touch you if you don't want me to, but I can't stand not seeing you. Not talking to you."
"I'm not sure it's the best choice for me, Conrad. With you, I'm a completely irrational person. And I don't make sound choices. It's another thing I'll have to figure out. The first one, I promise. I don't enjoy making you suffer. At all." We hug tighter and he sighs. "I want you to stay tonight. Be gone tomorrow morning before I wake up and I swear I'll call you soon. In a matter of days. Please. Whatever we have, we need to make it stand on a firm foundation. It wouldn't do you any favor if I kept going back and forth. It would be torture for both of us."
"You're right. But If I'm not here, you'll make the wrong choice."
"Is what's between us so fragile that it can't withstand a few days apart? If so, is it even worth it?"
"It's not fragile, but you will make the wrong choice. I will give you the days you're asking for, but I'll come and have dinner with you every day. We can eat in silence or you can ask me whatever you want. And maybe tell me more about yourself. Your choice. Deal?"
I nod. I'm letting him win because my confusing feelings are getting the better of me again. How can it be wrong when drifting into sleep cradled in his arms feels so right?
I wake up sweaty. It's too hot, and I feel suffocated because Conrad is coiled around me as if I'd run if he didn't hold me tight.
You will make the wrong choice.
Those words held finality, resignation, a raw ache.
I wriggle a little until he releases me enough to breathe. To look at him. In the soft glow of my nightlight, which I always keep on, I pause to study him once more. His dark eyes—a brown so intense they almost look black—are closed, and his face is relaxed. His body encompasses mine so completely that I feel small for the first time in my life. His palms are flat on my back, cradling me. He's taken the time to get rid of his suit, keeping just his boxers. They do little to contain his erection. Even in his sleep, his body craves mine. I can't deny my body does the same.
