Page 61 of The Cabin

I hadn’t even noticed. That feels really ungrateful or spoiled or something. I had just been shoving the dirty clothes in one of my bags and never looking at them again, so I never realized.

He just smiles and continues his rubbing.

“You didn’t have to do that.” Even I can hear the nerves in my voice. I don’t know what to do with my hands, they're just hanging limply at my sides.

“I know.”

Silence. I’m sure he’s probably thinking about how natural and peaceful this silence is, but I am not feeling peaceful. I am stressed. I am making a very big deal out of…the unknown I guess. I do not feel very ‘go with the flow’. I feel on edge and like I’m supposed to be the lead in a show that I don’t know the lines for. Like I never received a script.

“Stop.” He looks back up at me through his lashes and my frown deepens. Oh shit, are my limp arms annoying him? Brushing up against his hands too much? I hold them out a little further from my sides. It’s awkward, but I’m no longer touching him.

He pulls me by my thighs even closer, forcing me to straddle his lap. His arms wrap around my waist and rest against my back.

“You’re overthinking,” he hums, moving his hands up and down soothingly.

“How can you tell?”

“I know what your face looks like when you are.” Grayson reaches up to place my arms around his neck. I keep quiet.

“Talk to me, what’s buzzing around in there?” Speaking of vulnerability! Why is healing so up and down? One minute I’m on top of a mountain reading smut aloud and coming in a hot spring, or standing up for myself in long winded rants that include a lot of really hard truths that are difficult to say. And the next I’m second guessing everything I do and feeling insecure, like a nuisance, like a bother and the brunt of the joke. The way I’ve felt since putting my clothes back on and returning to the cabin is exactly how I used to feel around Brian. I have regressed right back to the meek, scared girl worried that if she said or did the wrong thing, that her husband would push her away even more than he already had. That if she followed his lead, she’d never have to feel rejected by putting herself out there. If I could anticipate his moods, his wants and needs, he would finally see me. Want me. Love me. We all know how that turned out.

Damnit. I can’t tell if I’m paying Joanna too much, or too little.

I swallow, trying to encourage the spit to come back to my dry mouth.

He waits me out. He is so good at that. So patient. Excellent wait time. That’s one of my weaknesses in teaching.

“Can I give the ‘some of the truth but mostly surface level answer’? Or do I have to do the whole deep dive?” His hands pause their travels to squeeze my hips. Ugh. I knew he was gonna say that.

“I am panicking,” I huff, looking behind him. Around him. He chuckles, caressing my jaw with just enough pressure to adjust my face to make me look at him. More wait time.

Big deep breath, and blow it out. “I am having a hard time holding on to the woman I’ve been nurturing since coming up here. I’m finding that I’m regressing back into old habits.”

“Like what?”

Should this feel like I’m stabbing my own eyes with a fork? Talking about the divorce is one thing. I felt stupid and embarrassed because I thought the divorce reflected poorly on me and not Brian. Grayson was the first person I admitted that to. He was the first person I had even told the reason for my divorce to. That was hard, but I did it. I told him about the fire. Those are things that happened to me. That I went through.

This feels worse. This isn’t just me feeling sorry for myself, either. This is me having to admit just how pathetic I’d become in my marriage. How much of myself I let die. How I made myself small so Brian could feel big, hoping that would make him like me.

I know I should phrase this more positively but I don’t have it in me.

His face is open, calm, attentive. He wants to know. He genuinely wants to know what’s happening in my head. I can see it in his eyes, in the way he’s touching and soothing me. He’s not just asking to be polite. Grayson is mindful of me and my needs just about all of the time.

“Um,” I have to take a second to clear my throat, “when I was married to Brian, I was an empty shell, a ghost of who I was. I would minify myself, dim my personality. I would keep my thoughts and my opinions to myself. I would anticipate his every move to make sure I didn’t do anything that would make him hate me more. I thought if I dulled who I was, if I didn’t bring up my wants or needs, that he would find me palatable enough to want. I was very desperate for love and connection. I thought if I let him take the lead, I would never have to feel rejected. Crushing myself like that turned me into a version of myself I didn’t like. I was sad and depressed and let myself get so pitiful that I was begging for a man’s attention. I was simultaneously disgusted and embarrassed with how bad I had let things get. I lost my spark, I lost the ability to think for myself. I just wasted away and let him control whether or not I felt happy.” I have to pause. I can tell I’m going to start crying and I’m trying to fight it. I was not planning on saying that much. He did not ask for that much. I could’ve simplified it, I could’ve been more vague.

A stupid, useless tear slips down my cheek. He moves to gently wipe it away almost immediately. I expect him to change the subject. To nod and move on. I’ve said enough and that was way more emotional than he bargained for.

“And tell me how that’s manifesting here with me. Am I doing things that are causing these reactions?” I kind of want to scream in a very spit flying, unhinged, sort of nutty way. What do youmean??? You’re telling me he’s gorgeous, he has a dirty mouth that rivals thefictionalmen in my books, he’s thoughtful, he’s kind, he’s dominant, he’s so freaking sweet,andhe’s emotionally intelligent and wants to hold himself accountable? Fuck all the way off.

“No, no, it’s nothing you’ve done at all. You’ve been…I am constantly shocked by you.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s the things you do so quietly. The steaks. The books, the groceries, the sandwich, the croquetas, the key lime pie, the dance to one of my favorite songs, the laundry, the listening. You…you give a shit about me, I guess?”

“And that’s shocking?”

“Yeah,” I whisper, “it is.”

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