Page 147 of Reverie
We’re silent, staring at each other.
“What do you mean, Winter?” I rasp.
“What if I…” she pulls in a shuddering breath. “What if I like it when you’re assertive and dominant? What if it makes me feel safe and protected? What if…what if I wanted that from you because I know your truth? Which is that youdoneed that,at least on some level, and there’s nothing wrong with needing what you need?”
I shake my head. “No.”
“Hunter—”
“No!” I yell, lunging to stand and getting close to her face. Winter stares back at me wide-eyed. Then, her face morphs, hardens. She closes the distance between us, pressing her breasts to my chest.
“You need to tell me right now. If I can’t be what you need, what do you want? Who do you want? Choose now, because I can’t take spinning in your circles anymore.”
I gape at her, feeling like I’ve stepped outside the plane and am barreling toward the ground.
“I won’t be like that with you, Winter,” I say, my voice low. Even to my ears, it sounds broken.
She stares at me for a moment, and then she nods.
“Okay,” she says and takes a step back. “I’ve been thinking about it. Really thinking about it—this concept around pain and hurt. And I realized…I’ve missed a critical distinction.”
She takes in a deep breath with a tremble.
“There’s a difference between harm and hurt. Your silence harms me, Hunter. Your darkness hurts. And call me crazy, but if the cost of having all of you is pain alongside our love, I can handle that. I want that. I’m sure it probably sounds fucked up but what we did in the shower? I loved it. But you never even asked what I wanted. You just decided for me, Hunter. So yes, the things we do together may hurt, and that’s okay with me. I welcome the pain in many aspects. But I won’t tolerate you causing me any more harm.”
She picks up the iPad again.
“You think I’m not capable of making my own decisions. You think I won’t stay if I know all of you. But the fucked-up thing is,I love every single part of you, Hunter James Brigham. Even the parts you hate.”
It feels like my chest is breaking open—cracking with each soft-spoken word.
“I’m tired, H. I know I didn’t honor your need for space when you asked, and for that, I’m sorry. But right now, I need…I need some space.”
Since I can’t speak, all I do is nod and leave the room, sliding the door closed behind me.
TWENTY-ONE
WINTER
I’ve never felt the level of disquiet in my body as I feel right now. It’s like there’s a fine tremor of tension thrumming along the facia covering my muscles, and it takes effort for me to breathe in and out as I lay on my side in the bed.
The bed that, given the circumstances, my husband likely fucked the woman outside that door on.
Contract. Release. Contract. Release.
I fell asleep for what feels like forever—lulled into unconsciousness by pure exhaustion and emotional overwhelm—but the digital clock on the far wall tells me that I’ve been out for an hour.
I don’t want to think about how much of a fool I’ve been.
I know that Hunter loves me. He loves me with all that he can. And still, he refuses to cross the gulf separating us.
I know the hurt he’s experiencing, and part of me realizes that I shouldn’t make demands he’s not ready to fulfill. If I were just his friend or his counselor, I wouldn’t. I’d offer him chances to come to whatever conclusions he draws about his life in his own time.
But I’m not his counselor. I’m not just his friend.
I’m his lover.
I’m his wife.