Page 177 of Dirty Husband
"I did, didn't I? I swear, I'll stop talking about auditions one day. It's just so exciting. It's been six months of nonstop practice. I'm finally going out there, getting rejected nonstop, like everyone else. I know I'm not great yet—"
I can't wait. I bring my hand to her cheek. Pull her into a deep, slow kiss.
For a second, she's stiff. Surprised. Then she melts into me.
My tongue slips into her mouth. I don't claim her. Not exactly. I let her know she's mine.
That I'm hers.
That I want it like this forever.
She pulls back with a heady sigh. "What was that—"
"I love you."
Her eyes go wide. She opens her mouth to speak. Stops herself. Tapping her fingers against the table, counting the tiny moments that made this possible.
It's there. In the air, the room, the universe. I love her. I have. For a long time. Always. It's just been impossible to explain. Impossible to accept. Impossible to understand.
How can a monster love anyone? Or anything?
But I'm not—
I can't even say that. Sure, I can repeat the affirmations from my shrink—I'm Shepard Marlowe and I'm not a monster—but I can't do it with conviction.
I don't believe it.
Not all the way.
Not most of the way.
I'm not healed just yet. Maybe I'll never be healed. Maybe this darkness will always live inside me. Somewhere deep and hidden. Somewhere no one else sees it. But there just the same.
I still flinch when she surprises me. I still churn at the sound of that bastard's name. I still throw the nearest thing when I think about how he—
I haven't told her yet.
But she knows. Somehow, she knows. She knows and I'm sitting here, across from her, staring back at her.
She knows, and I'm not running away.
She knows, and she's here.
I'm not sure when she knew. For how long. Or how she put the pieces together. If someone told her. I never ask. I never ask.
It doesn't matter.
She knows, and she's here.
She knows, and she wants me.
She knows, and she loves me.
That's all that matters.
"I love you." It's easier the second time. Right. Like music. Or poetry. Or something else I want to understand. "More than anything."
"I love you too." She smiles, not drawing attention to the moment, just reveling in the feel of the words on her lips. "It's a good thing. Because you're stuck with me." She taps her wedding ring. Then runs her finger over mine.
