Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 121310 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 607(@200wpm)___ 485(@250wpm)___ 404(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121310 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 607(@200wpm)___ 485(@250wpm)___ 404(@300wpm)
His hands slide away from my hips as he pulls back.
"Why do I feel like I'm in a poly relationship with my own fiancée?"
That, of all he's said, is what makes my heart clench.
My words stutter as I whisper my worst fear out loud, but I have to know: "Is this too much for you?" Am I too much for you?
"What? No. Of course not!" He comes back and wraps his arms around my waist, hugging me but keeping enough distance so he can look me in the eye. "I can only imagine how hard this is on you. I'm afraid this is upsetting you, but you're trying to cover it up and not telling me because you don't want to upset me."
I'm the one pulling back this time. I stamp my foot in frustration. "What else can I do to convince you? All I have are my words. It's all me. I'll never get upset when you connect with her. We're not just in one body—it's one mind, too. Why won't you trust me when I tell you it's okay to sleep with her? It's still me expressing my love for you."
"I hear you, I just—"
"This is so frustrating! Do you think I'm a liar?"
"What? No! Of course not." He steps closer.
I lift my hands to settle them on his chest. "Then believe me when I say things."
"Okay, okay," he says, voice softening. He strokes his fingers through my hair, tucking it behind my ears.
I look him in the eyes, trying not to feel exasperated as I repeat what I've been saying for months now. "Then believe me when I tell you it's all me. She is me. I am her. We're all just facets of the same me."
Domhnall nods, but I still don't think he understands.
I get it. I really do. I can barely keep everything straight in my head about how all this works some days. And others, I feel her and me co-existing in the same space, like we're in parallel universes that are becoming almost parallel. Like, in my timeline, I didn't experience as horrific a childhood, and I'm who we could have been.
And she's the me from the universe where we did have a monstrous father.
But in that case, I'm the trespasser.
I stole her happiness after everything she endured to get us here. So, of course, I want her to have Domhn and her happy ending. I want that for her so fervently.
Almost as much as I want him for myself.
Because that's the rub. For all my altruistic feelings and good wishes, I won't give up Domhn for her. I won't… go away.
"Mads went to the club when it was closed, then messaged pretending to be you, wanting me to meet her there."
"We only have one phone number."
"Then you should start signing your texts as you or her."
I look at him impatiently. "She'll still just lie and say she's me."
"Doesn't that feel like a problem for you?"
"No." I swear it's like he doesn't listen. Still, I curl my fingers into his shirt. I hate any space between us, even if it's just the kind born of misunderstanding. So I try to explain. "Domhn, she spent her whole life with him. Good and bad don't mean the same things to her."
"You grew up with him, too," Domhn whispers, and I hear the furious heartbreak in his voice. I know there's still some ridiculous part of him that blames himself for not being able to find me and rescue me from the big bad wolf.
"Not the worst part," I say back, swallowing hard so my voice doesn't crack. "Yes, Mads might lie and scheme, but in her heart," I grab his hand, "we're still the same person."
I see his eyes cloud over.
No matter how many times I tell him, he doesn't believe me. What the hell did Mads say or do to him last night?
I stiffen. "Did she hurt you?"
"Of course not."
I breathe out. I didn't think so. Mads and I might argue in therapy, but if there's one thing we always agree on, it's that we love Domhn. Passionately. Obsessively. Single-mindedly.
Even when we disagree about everything else.
During the year in Chicago, I did a lot of work to find myself.
I tried different foods. Went to different kinds of movies and shows. There was always some sort of music playing downtown. I met people. Read books. Watched TV.
I tried to answer the question: what do I like, with no one else around to be influenced by or to try to please?
Mads kept busy, too, though I don't think she was "finding" anything except trouble.
Sometimes I'd wake up in strange places: in a twenty-four-hour diner at four-thirty in the morning, in a club bathroom being asked to leave by an impatient cleaning crew, curled up on a stranger's couch as the barest bit of morning sunlight peeked in through the windows.