Page 91 of A Lesson In Beginning

“Christ Almighty, Adah. No. No, I’m not ending things. What kind of monster do you think I am? That I would just call it quits because of one issue? That I would run at the first sight of drama, or hardship, or difficulty?”

“No, I suppose not. That’s what I do, though.”

“What?”

“I run away when there is the sign of trouble.”

“Is that what happened last week?”

“Sort of. Sort of not. I don’t know.”

“Okay. Give me just a moment.” I watched as he took a deep breath, closing his eyes and collecting himself. “I’m trying here, Adah. I am trying desperately to give you the space you seem to want. But I’m a living, breathing person. We are in this together. And while I’m happy to give you space and time to process, you can’t just stop communicating. That isn’t how this works.”

“I’m sorry.” I felt all of about two inches tall, and timid as a field mouse.

“I don’t need you to be sorry, love. I just need you to be honest with me.” Just hearing him use the word love calmed me. Only a week without seeing him, without hearing that word fall from his lips, and I had no idea just how deeply it affected me. But even with that truth, it did not change the issue at hand.

“I don’t know how to communicate when I don’t know how to express myself.”

“Can you try to tell me what happened?” He slid his chair closer, the gap between us closing just that little bit.

“It was too much. Too much, too quickly.”

“Was it the spanking?”

“No, nothing like that. It was —” I quickly closed my lips, unwilling to let the truth spill out. Mostly because I didn’t realize exactly what that truth was until that very moment.

“Don’t stop. Please. Tell me what’s going on in that head of yours. Help me understand.” His voice was fraught with emotion, desperate and raw.

“I can’t.” My eyes lowered to my hands in my lap, picking at my nails. It really was a horrid habit, and I tried quickly to stop myself from continuing it.

“Try. For me. Please.” He nearly begged me, but still, the words just would not come.

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s too difficult.” Exasperated, I flopped back against the back of the chair, my hands covering my face in shame and guilt.

“Why? Why is it so difficult? Please, just let me in.” The desire to just be there for me, to help me through this, was so easily discernible in his voice it nearly broke my heart.

“Because you’ll leave.”

“What?” I wanted so badly to backpedal, to take the words back, but there was no going back.

“If I open up to you like this, if I tell you the truth, then you’ll leave.”

“Adah, do you know what self-sabotage is?”

“Of course I do.”

“And do you realize that’s exactly what you’re doing now?” His voice was calm, with not an ounce of judgment to be found. Not that it stopped me from beating myself up, regardless.

“I am not. Oh, well… Yes, I suppose I am. But it’s not that simple.”

“Isn’t it?”

“No.” Cringing at the sound of my own ridiculous petulance, I huffed in frustration.

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