Page 52 of Craving Chaos

He’s not a mind reader, but I don’t think I’m under an obligation to explain my hesitancy.

I should explain. I should give in. I should, should, should.

What about him? Why shouldn’t the shoulds fall on his shoulders for once?

The roller coaster of emotions I’m riding has tears burning the backs of my eyes, and that pisses me off even more.

I knew he’d do this to me—carve out my insides and leave me a broken mess. I’m not there yet, but I see it happening like an out-of-body experience. I see myself careening toward a brick wall, and I’m powerless to stop myself.

The only thing I can think to do to mitigate damages is an abrupt about-face. I have to jump tracks and get myself going in a new direction. The opposite direction as Renzo.

If I pretend he doesn’t exist, I can’t fall in love with him … any more than I already have.

I have to shut him out and get control of my heart again.

The thought alone sends a searing stab of pain through my chest. I collapse into the chair and let the sobs take over. Silent heaving sobs of loss and frustration built up from years of intense discipline. The funny thing is, I’m not entirely sure if the loss of Renzo or myself shakes me the most. Either way, I’m adrift.

I give myself a handful of minutes to bleed the emotions dry before wiping the salt from my cheeks and securing an impenetrable barrier around me. Not only between me and the outside world. I erect a reinforced barrier separating me from my emotions. If I can’t trust that part of me, I’ll have to lock it away until the threat is no longer present.

I don’t like the emptiness. It feels foreign and cold, but I know it’s the best way to protect myself.

When Renzo finally returns, I can sense his scrutiny.

I feel his wary gaze following my movements. Studying. Calculating. I sense him, and I don’t care. His curiosity or concern is irrelevant to me. His existence is inconsequential aside from his role in aiding my survival.

The numbness would be a relief if I was open to feeling anything. But I’m not.

All I feel are facts.

His body against mine while we sleep. I am warm.

His presence on a walk to the creek. I am not alone.

My emotions are not part of the equation, and I don’t allow myself to waste energy dwelling on his thoughts and feelings because they are as irrelevant as he is.

CHAPTER 27

RENZO

Shae has hardly spoken in the two days since the blow job. It wouldn't bother me if she were simply giving me the silent treatment. I have two younger sisters who are experts in the art of passive aggression. I know the silent treatment when I see it.

This is different.

At first, I played into her silence and was equally distant. I realized as the day went by that something was off. The emptiness in Shae’s eyes sends an eerie chill down my spine.

She’s not merely silent; she’s gone.

The profound shift throws me completely. I can’t stop worrying what I did has resurfaced a past trauma, triggering her to shut down. Guilt drips from a leaky faucet I usually keep welded shut.

Even if that isn’t the case, something has caused her to withdraw into herself. Something about what we did. I don’t get it. She was unquestionably willing. I know she got off on it. So why have such an adverse reaction after the fact?

I didn’t want to hurt her. I just didn’t know of any other way to get through but to speak to that side of her that hears me. I want to ask her what’s wrong, but I know she won’t tell me. She won’t even fucking say a word, let alone explain herself. Do I force it out of her? Would that finally push her to break through to the other side of this mental block, or would I do irreparable damage?

I spend two days crippled with indecision. That is not something I’m used to experiencing, and I hate the feeling. I’m a fixer. A leader. Flailing about in a sea of uncertainty only leads to drowning. I know I need to decide on a course and follow through, but hell if I can figure out what that course is.

On the third day, when I return from a walk, I find Shae working out. She’s using a tree as a stand-in for a sparring partner. She’s been at it long enough that the pink in her cheeks is no longer from the cold. It’s the most animated I’ve seen her since she gave me the most incredible blow job I’ve ever had.

My gut tells me this might be my chance.