Total pages in book: 235
Estimated words: 224334 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1122(@200wpm)___ 897(@250wpm)___ 748(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 224334 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1122(@200wpm)___ 897(@250wpm)___ 748(@300wpm)
I wince. “Ava, please don’t. I hate myself.”
“I hate you too! How could you?”
“Ava, why are you not listening to me?”
“I am, and I don’t like what I’m hearing!” She’s moving, taking herself away, and I make a panicked grab for her hips, placing my forehead on her stomach, my emotions completely taking over.
My body starts to jerk. My eyes burst with tears. I’ve lost. Pathetic. Nothing like the man she needs and deserves. “I’m sorry,” I whisper, broken. “I love you. Please, I beg you, please don’t leave me. Marry me.”
“What?” Her tone is shocked, disgusted, everything I don’t want it to be. “I can’t marry someone I don’t understand.” And those words finish me off, making me slump before her. Ruined. “I thought I was working you out.” Her voice is trembling. “You’ve destroyed me again, Jesse.”
“Ava, please,” I beg. “I was a mess. I lost control. I thought I could fight you out of my head.” Because I knew I could do this to you!
“By getting pissed and fucking other women?”
“I didn’t know what to do.” It’s all I have in this moment. The truth for once. My overwhelming anxiety, fear and dread at her being hurt hasn’t improved. It never will. Neither will my dread of losing her. It will always be with me, whether the ghosts of my past follow me or not. My excuses for leaving her for those four days will never be good enough. Fear in a man like me is laughable, but that’s what this woman reduces me to. A wreck. A tragic excuse of a man. I really don’t deserve her love. But I’m far too selfish to give it up easily. Because where I will be without her is not a place I want to go again. And deep down, I know she doesn’t want me to go there either.
“You could have talked to me.”
Talk. It’s easier said than done when you’ve spent a lifetime being silent. Hiding. “Ava, you would have run away from me again.”
“All of the apologies you’ve been giving me were because your conscience was eating away at you. It wasn’t because you were drunk, or because of The Manor. It’s because you screwed around on me. You said you hadn’t dabbled since way before me. You’ve lied to me. Every time I think we’ve made progress, more bombshells. I can’t cope with this anymore. I don’t know who you are, Jesse.”
“You do know me. I’ve fucked up. I’ve really fucked up, but no one knows me better than you. No one.”
“Sarah might do. She seems to know you very well.” Her tone is flat, almost resentful. “Why?”
My body gives, my arse hitting my heels. If Ava doesn’t leave me, if we can get past this, I might explain that to her one day. She deserves to know . . . but only if she stays. For now, though, I can only explain this with how my spiraling could have ended. “I’ve let you down. I wanted a drink, but I promised you I wouldn’t, and I know what’s likely to happen if I do.”
“So you had yourself whipped? I don’t understand.”
“Ava, you know I’ve led a colorful life. I’ve broken marriages, treated women like objects, and taken what’s not mine. I’ve damaged people, and I feel like all of this is my penance. I’ve found my little piece of heaven, and I feel like everyone is going out of their way to take it away from me.”
“You are the only one who’s going to fuck this up. Just you. You drinking, you being a control freak, you fucking other women. You!”
Yes, me. Always me. “I can’t believe I’ve got you. I’m terrified you’re going to be taken away from me.”
“So you ask a woman I despise, a woman who wants to take you away from me, to whip you?”
“Sarah doesn’t want to take me away from you.” Why the hell am I protecting her? Because I owe her. Sarah is just one more person in this world who I’ve let down. Because by giving myself to her that one time, caving to the pressure, I let her down. I let us all down.
“Yes, Jesse, she does. You doing this to yourself is agony for me. You are punishing me, not you. I love you, despite all of the shit you keep landing on me, but I can’t watch you do this to yourself.”
What does that mean? What’s that resoluteness I hear in her voice and can see on her face? “Don’t leave me.” My voice has taken on an unwarranted demanding tone, and I grab her hands. “I’ll die before I’m without you.”
“Don’t say that,” she yells, furious. “That’s crazy talk.”
Can’t she see? I pull her to her knees. “It’s not crazy. That nightmare I had when you were gone. Just like that—gone. It gave me a clue of what it would be like without you.” The reminder brings all of the tormenting images back. Blackness. Emptiness. Pain. “Ava, it killed me.”