Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 91536 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 458(@200wpm)___ 366(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91536 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 458(@200wpm)___ 366(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
"Vulnerability." One word. No questions. That's it. In her personal and professional opinion.
It is the thing I'm lacking.
"We don't have to talk," I say. "That's not a requirement of the exercise."
She looks to the bed. "Five minutes. That's all I'm offering."
I take the win. "Shall we sit?" I motion to the comforter.
Ivy nods and slides onto the soft fabric cross-legged.
I take the spot across from her and hold out my arms.
She presses her palms against mine. She meets my gaze.
At first, the eye contact feels normal. I'm used to looking into people's eyes. Even staring into a stranger's eyes.
But as it goes on, something in me stirs. Warmth builds in my chest. Spreads out through my torso, down my arms and legs, all the way to the place my fingertips touch hers.
My stomach flutters. My throat gets dry. For a long moment, I'm nervous. Scared of how open I feel.
How deeply she can see inside me.
How deeply I can see inside her.
Then the fear settles back into warmth. An excitement. A comfort.
It doesn't make sense. They're opposites. But they're both inside me. Not dueling. Playing together.
A desire to share myself with her. A drive to see more of her. A safety. A trust.
When is the last time I felt that?
She stares back for a long time. I'm not sure how many minutes have passed when she looks aside.
"I'm sorry. I just… I did this with my ex-husband. We went to counseling when we were trying to fix things. But we couldn't. I thought I was over that. Over failing at this thing I swore I could do for life. But I'm not."
How could anyone see her as a failure? She's got a PhD. A successful business. A brilliant mind.
But I know better than to object. It's not as if everyone sees me as a success just because I own a condo in Newport.
"What is that like?" I ask.
"Failing at marriage?" She flops onto her back on the bed and stares up at the ceiling. "It's strange. I never wanted to get married. When I was younger, I imagined my life as this strong, independent woman. But I fell in love. And I fell into that relationship. Marriage seemed like the next logical step. And I enjoyed it. I liked waking up next to someone. I liked sharing chores. I liked having someone to hold me if I had a bad day. I liked making plans together. I got so used to it… to this spot he had in my life, that I accepted things, no matter how hard they felt."
"What made them hard?"
"I don't know. That's the thing. I still can't explain it. And I know better. I know that isn't the answer. The reasons don't matter. There's no use in identifying the exact spot where our paths diverged, or the moments where I should have said something else, because I don't need to go back and fix it. I don't want to fix it. We were right to separate. And I'm not worried it will happen again, because I won't be with him again. I'll be with someone else. But my brain still keeps going back to it again and again."
"It's hard to move on from something you don't understand," I say.
She nods exactly. "I tell my clients to 'make up a story' if they need something. Because it's better to tell a story you understand, one you can accept. That helps you move on. But, for some reason, I can't get my brain to do that. It keeps looking for the places I needed to try harder, do better, listen more."
"Maybe you needed to try less."
She nods. "I did. I needed to stop trying so hard… but that's so far outside my skill set." She laughs. "I miss parts of him, sometimes, but it's not really about him. It's about the failure."
"Have you failed at anything before?"
"Not often."
"It sucks," I say.
"When have you ever failed?" she asks. "Sorry. I didn't mean that as an accusation."
"It's a fair question. I've never loved someone. I've never tried. So, who do I think I am, telling you how to feel about your relationship?"
"You're not… but that is true."
"I haven't failed at love. You're right there. But it's because I haven't tried. And isn't that a sort of failure?"
"Yeah, but it's a cop-out too."
"I failed chemistry," I say. "In high school. I had to take it twice."
"That's a start." She rolls onto her side and looks up at me. Still sad, but a little softer. "What else?"
"A lot of clients," I say.
She motions for me to go on.
So, I do. "There was a woman who wanted a Dom. Sasha told me it was an easy gig. All I had to do was show up in a suit and use a firm voice and the client's excitement would do the rest. But I couldn't even order her out of her dress."