Total pages in book: 151
Estimated words: 145746 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 729(@200wpm)___ 583(@250wpm)___ 486(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 145746 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 729(@200wpm)___ 583(@250wpm)___ 486(@300wpm)
I take her by the shoulder and gently turn her back to face me.
“And what about love?” I tip up her chin, search her eyes. “Are you afraid to love?”
“When I’m manic, I’m not sure I can even trust love because what’s real? Is it a hallucination? A fever dream? Something I made up to—”
“I’m fucking right here, Vee.” I press her palms to my heart. “This is real and I’m not going to let you talk circles around it.”
She lowers her head, shields what’s in her eyes with her lashes. “Look, I told you—”
“That you love me,” I remind her.
“And I do. But this, what we’re doing, it’s the same thing I saw with my parents.”
“And that scares you?”
“How could it not?” she shouts, looking up, eyes wide and panicked. “You weren’t there that night. No one was except me. I’ve seen what this thing can do to a life, to love. We’re already fighting about my condition. Maybe we both need to think about this before we go any further.”
“Are you saying you don’t want this?” My head drops back and I stare at the ceiling. “First sign of trouble and you’re ready to give up on us?”
“No.” She cups my face, pressing my chin until my head lowers and we’re staring into each other’s eyes again. “I just don’t want either of us to get hurt. Maybe this is moving too fast. We should both weigh the options and be sure.”
“I am sure, Vee.” I clasp her wrist, holding her hand against my face, and kiss her palm. “I just wish you were, too.”
This time I’m the one to step away, out of her reach. It stings, that I just handed her my heart, my future, and she’s not even sure she wants it. I tighten my hands into fists and shove them into the pockets of my sleep pants, struggling to rein in my frustration, my hurt.
“Monk,” she says, her mouth trembling, her eyes shadowed with uncertainty and fear. “It’s not that. I just—”
“I leave for New York in the morning,” I tell her, turning away to toss the words over my shoulder as I head for the stairs. “The offer still stands if you want to come.”
The only answer is the clack clack clack.
Happy fucking Valentine’s Day.
FIFTY-ONE
Verity
“Are you sure?” Sheila asks. “It’s been years since I was on a pitch call with you.”
“I know, but this is the first idea I’ve pitched since I signed this deal. It would just be nice to have you there.”
I pace my bedroom with the phone pressed to my ear and my hand pressed to my chest, my heart pounding like a talking drum through the muscle, skin, and bone. I can’t tell her, just like I couldn’t tell Monk, the whole truth.
That I’m terrified.
Whenever I’m approaching mania, I have these brief, blessed moments of clarity when it’s like I’m observing myself from afar, and I clearly see the signs, like someone standing on the shore watching a towering tsunami roll in. Yesterday after Monk left for New York and I found myself cleaning his entire house, top to bottom, even though it was already immaculate and I had only slept a handful of hours in three days, I stood on that shore. Bent over a spotless floor, hands tucked into rubber gloves, and the pungent scent of Clorox burning my nose, that clarity came.
I have been going days without much sleep and working feverishly. Burning the candle at both ends with these two projects has disrupted the routines that keep me stable, especially as we approach spring. I’ve even missed a few days of meds, which I’d never let happen if I was on top of things. The world has been more vivid—colors brighter, sounds more mellifluous, tastes and textures richer—in that way that is magnificent, but not necessarily… normal.
My mind is sharper; like there was a cork in my imagination that popped, and so many ideas gushed forth, that my brain can’t hold them. It’s why the pitch I came up with over the last two days is better than anything I’ve written in a year, certainly in the last four months of banging my head against a keyboard.
It’s a waking dream, that glorious state of just before that has deceived me in the past. It’s been years since I let it go this far, get this close, but if that’s what this is, I shouldn’t get on this call by myself. I need Sheila there to make sure I don’t sabotage the career I’ve just gotten back on track.
“I haven’t even heard this idea,” Sheila says, her curiosity evident. “It’s different from what you’ve been working on?”
“Yeah, but I love it. I hope they will, too.”
“Well, I’m looking forward to it.”
“Thanks, Sheila.” I catch sight of my bedraggled appearance in the mirror propped against my bedroom wall. “I know this is a video call, but even my head and shoulders aren’t presentable yet, so let me go get ready for this meeting.”