Page 57 of Redeem

I looked up at the sound of Dana’s voice, saw the angry, pained expression on her face. I also saw that her patience was nearing its limit.

“So after…” I said, wanting to continue.

I trailed off again, though, looked at her, saw that her anger was beginning to intensify. It was understandable, and she was entitled to it, but I still felt the need to explain, knew I couldn’t let this go.

I stood, began to pace the small room, the nervous energy inside me making it hard for me to stay still, though I wanted to be close to her.

With each step I took, she followed me with eyes low-hooded, her expression wavering between flat and seething anger. I didn’t know which was worse, but she was cycling through them so quickly I didn’t have a chance to settle on either one.

Once some of the restlessness had calmed, I stopped, looked at her, and continued.

“After, I lost it,” I said.

She lifted a brow, tilted her head. “I can’t begin to fathom what that might mean,” she said.

“Because it’s hard to fathom,” I replied.

It was hard to fathom, and I couldn’t honestly say whether I did or not. The shame, the distance, that thinking back on those days brought was something I had yet to reconcile.

But I knew one thing with complete clarity.

I loved her.

She’d never believe me, wouldn’t accept it if she did, but of all the things I didn’t know, wasn’t sure of, I had no doubt of my love for her. That knowledge would have to be my touchstone.

“So you went crazy or something?” she said, voice tight, impatient.

I had forgotten I was talking for a moment but when she spoke, I was reminded. I shook my head. “No. Yes. Sort of.”

That got a smile from her, however reluctant and begrudging.

“Thanks for being so clear, Ciprian,” she said, the easy smile on her face reminding me of the good times we’d shared, how wonderful things had been during those precious weeks.

That moment’s joy was short-lived as I quickly thought back to the point of this conversation. It was difficult to try to explain what I didn’t really understand myself, but I gave it my best effort.

“It was like I shut down,” I said.

I paused again, trying to think of a better way to describe it but not being able to come up with one. Shutting down was exactly what had happened.

“I just stopped caring about everything,” I said.

“Because of me?”

I looked at her again. “Because of you, because of everything. It sounds like bullshit, maybe a little insane, but I kept remembering that look on your face. The hurt in your eyes,” I said.

“Which was nothing new for you, I take it?” she asked.

“No. It wasn’t,” I said.

“So what made me so different?”

“I don’t know.”

That wasn’t a satisfactory answer, for me or for her, but I didn’t have a better one. I wanted to, desperately, but I didn’t.

“So when you say you lost it, tell me what you mean,” she said.

“It means I just shut down,” I said. “I felt nothing. No pain, no fear. Nothing.”