Page 40 of Knot Your Karma
“I’m protecting them?—”
“No, honey.” Destiny’s voice gentles but stays firm. “You’re protecting yourself. You’re so terrified of being alone again that you’re willing to build a relationship on lies.”
“Every day you don’t tell them is another day you choose fear over love,” Destiny continues, voice steady as a surgeon’s scalpel but infinitely gentler. “Every day you take their comfort, their protection, their alpha energy—and give them lies in return. That’s not omega instincts, Karma. That’s just fear.”
“Stop.” My voice comes out broken, barely a whisper.
“I won’t stop. Because someone needs to tell you the truth, and clearly I’m the only one who will.” Destiny releases my hands and positions herself where she can face me fully. “You want to know why you really haven’t told them? It’s not because you’re protecting them. It’s because you know the second you tell them the truth, you’ll have to find out who they really are when things get complicated.”
“They’ll leave.”
“Maybe they will. Maybe they’ll decide that someone who could lie to them for weeks about something this important isn’t someone they can trust.” Her voice carries brutal honesty wrapped in fierce love. “And maybe that’s the consequence of choosing fear over honesty.”
I’m sobbing now, ugly crying while rain patters against windows with steady, mocking rhythm. Destiny doesn’t leave—she moves closer, not quite touching but close enough that her warmth and cinnamon scent provide steady comfort.
“I don’t know how to fix this.”
“Yes, you do. You tell them the truth. All of it. Blake’s abuse, the theft, where the compass is, everything.” Destiny’s hand settles on my back, rubbing gentle circles between my shoulder blades. “You stop being afraid and give them the choice Blake never gave you.”
“What if they hate me?”
“Then they hate you. But at least they hate you for who you really are instead of loving you for who you’re pretending to be.” She continues the soothing motion, her touch grounding me in the present moment. “Karma, do you want to be Blake’s victim for the rest of your life? Because that’s what this is. You’re still letting him win.”
“I don’t know how to be brave.”
“You tackled Adrian in your front yard because you thought he was a threat. You defended yourself against a man twice your size because you thought you were in danger.” Destiny’s voice strengthens with pride and conviction. “You know how to be brave when it matters. The question is: do these men matter enough for you to be brave now?”
“What if I tell them and they leave, and I end up alone again?”
“Then you’ll be alone with your integrity intact instead of alone with the knowledge that you destroyed the best thing that ever happened to you because you were too afraid to behonest.” Destiny’s voice carries gentler warmth now, still firm but infinitely compassionate. “And maybe, just maybe, you’ll discover that you’re stronger than Blake convinced you to believe.”
“I don’t know how to tell them,” I whisper finally, voice barely audible over settling rain.
“You pick up the phone and say ‘I need to tell you something important. Can you come over?’” Destiny’s voice is matter-of-fact, no longer cutting but still unforgiving of excuses. “And then when they get here, you tell them everything. Blake’s abuse, the compass, where it is, how long you’ve known. All of it.”
“Tonight?”
“Tomorrow morning,” Destiny says, and I can hear the shift in her voice—still firm, but more protective. “When you’re sober and clear-headed and they’re not wondering why you’re having an emotional breakdown at eleven PM.”
Relief floods through me so fast my knees go weak. “Tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow. First thing.” She takes my phone from my hands and sets it firmly on the coffee table, out of reach. “And no, you’re not texting them tonight either. Friends don’t let friends drunk text, especially not about life-changing confessions.”
“But what if I lose my nerve?”
“Then I’ll be here at nine AM to make sure you don’t.” Destiny settles beside me on the couch, her shoulder touching mine. “You’re not doing this alone, but you’re also not doing it while you’re emotionally compromised and half a bottle of wine in.”
“What if?—”
“No what-ifs tonight. Tonight, you get some food in you, we watch something mindless on Netflix, and you go to bed early so you can face tomorrow with a clear head.” Her voice carries protective certainty rather than sharp demand. “Tomorrow morning, you call them and ask them to come over. When you’re ready to have the most important conversation of your life.”
“You’d stay?”
“Mija, I’m not going anywhere.” She wraps one arm around my shoulders, pulling me against her side. “But I’m also not going to let you sabotage this because wine made you brave at the wrong moment.”
“Destiny—”
“You don’t have to be perfect,” she says quietly, her voice finally holding the gentle warmth I’ve been craving. “You just have to be honest. And you can’t be honest when you’re drunk and crying and making decisions from a place of panic.”
