Chapter 64 #2
I may have been propelled into marrying my wife because of her, but her interference stops there.
Whatever happens next is because my wife and I decide it’s right for us.
I tickle Malice under her chin. She yawns, then tries to nip at my fingers. "Hey, watch it." I shove at her playfully.
She, in turn, pretends to bare her teeth at me, then shoves her head between me and the phone.
"You have a cat?" Tristan’s jaw drops.
"Adopted her a few months ago." I’ve never shared that with my family. Another thing to be open about with them moving forward.
"And you’re playing with her?"
"The stimulation’s good for her."
“You’re okay with an animal’s filth in your life?” His brows rise.
“She’s not an animal. She’s Malice.”
“O-kay?” He seems taken aback.
“Cats are very neat. They clean themselves all the time. They don’t roll in dirt or eat garbage. They don’t need baths or grooming.”
“Hmm.” He rubs his chin. “What about cat hair? I would've thought that’d push your OCD into overdrive.”
“Firstly, they don’t shed as much as people think they do. Secondly, she actually helps me manage my disorder.”
“She does?” Tristan seems disbelieving.
“She’s a kind of comfort animal. She’s undemanding, doesn’t beg for my attention. In fact, it’s the other way around. I must earn hers. I can’t control her routine. So, I fit my life around hers. That forces me to let go of control.”
He scowls. “Your life is made of strange paradoxes.”
“You’re telling me?”
Malice stares into the phone screen, with that absolute curiosity that only cats can exhibit.
A smile curves his lips. "She’s definitely cute, what’d you say her name is?”
"Malice.”
He chuckles. “Suits her.”
Malice jumps off me and the bed, then pads toward the door, tail held high behind her.
"I think she misses Harper too.”
“Does she know about your OCD?”
I hesitate. “I haven’t told her yet.”
“Maybe you should?”
“I absolutely should.” I drag my fingers through my hair.
But every time I want to tell her, the fear of feeling vulnerable, the shame at being seen as less than, and the worry that it could change how she sees me, stops me.
Maybe, if I told her about my PTSD and OCD, she'd change her mind about loving me.
But keeping it a secret makes it difficult to accept that she loves me. It makes me feel unworthy of her.
She is perfect… Me? I’m flawed.
It’s why I find it difficult to stand on the precipice with her.
To open myself up to her and allow her to see my weaknesses feels like the ultimate act of trust. Of love. Of courage. Of believing in her. In us.
I swallow hard. My pulse kicks up. Tension grips my muscles.
I grab the back of my neck and squeeze. “Why does this have to be so complicated?”
“By this you mean, love?” Tristan’s lips curve, but his eyes are serious.
Yes, exactly. But I don’t say that aloud. Instead, I glance out the window at the lights of the city.
“I did begin to seek counselling for it,” I admit.
His eyebrows rise. “You did?”
I nod slowly. “By managing my OCD, my PTSD, too, can be controlled. I want to make sure my condition doesn’t put her at risk again.”
I give him a brief outline of what happened when she tried to wake me from my nightmare. The moment was traumatic. I immediately knew I needed professional help to manage it.
When it was just me, it didn’t matter so much. But with my wife in the mix, I feel a responsibility to fix myself, so she’s safe.
“Perhaps, it will help you be more open about your feelings?” Tristan tilts his head.
I certainly hope so. I hope the next time I have the opportunity to speak my mind, I take it.
Tristan eyes me closely, and whatever he sees must reassure him, for he jerks his chin. “Gotta go, buddy. I’m working on a new project, which just reached a critical phase.”
He seems invigorated by the thought. I wonder what this new project is about. I push that thought aside. I have enough going on in my own life to take care of.
“See you at the next poker game.” He disconnects.
I put my phone down and wander around the apartment. Malice seems to have fallen asleep in her cat cave. So, it’s just me.
I survey my untouched glass of wine. I’m too restless to stay home and drink.
I’m better off getting out of here, maybe driving around the city. I could take my Jeep Wrangler out for a spin.
I don’t use it much anymore; not since I started The Edge. I often get a car service to pick me up, or I end up driving my Jaguar.
But my Jeep Wrangler and I are old friends. Yes, that feels right.
It’s a testament to how much I’ve changed that I let my feelings guide me.
Force of habit has me heading for the South Bank.
En route, I see the ice cream parlor where I took Harper the evening we met.
Overcome by nostalgia, I park by the curb, and head inside.
Instead of ordering my bitter chocolate in a cup, I order what she had—strawberry and mango in a cone with sprinkles and chocolate sauce.
I stare at it. The thing is absurdly vibrant, pink, and unapologetic, exactly like her. A small smile curves my lips.
I take a bite. Tart hits first, then sweet, then the grit of sprinkles, and a back-note of dark chocolate I didn't expect. I wince.
Not a convert.
I take another bite and swallow. The flavors seem more friendly. There's a logic to it, once you stop resisting. Sweet and sharp in the same mouthful. The kind of surprise that keeps you guessing.
Like her.
I think I’ve mapped her, and then she shifts, and I’m left trying to foresee her next move. Which I admit, I mostly can’t.
It’s why I’m entranced by her. She keeps me on my feet. Even though she loves to please me and do as I ask of her, there’s always an underlying current of challenge to her stance that keeps things engaging.
A warmth fills my being. Whenever I think of her, it’s with a mix of emotions which never cease to surprise me. I feel good when I think of her. I feel alive. I feel like I’m hers. And she’s mine. Only mine.
I drop the rest of the cone into the trash and head back to my Jeep. It strikes me that the reason I took the Jeep out is because I drove her home in this that night. After showing her my favorite sights of the city.
I glance at the passenger seat when I stop for the next traffic light.
I can imagine her sitting there in the glittery pink dress she wore that night.
I was unable to take my eyes off of her.
I felt the connection right away. I spent five years trying to control what I felt for her when, really…
My feeling are too big, too complex, to be contained.
Retracing our route from that night, I head to the bar I took her for a night cap.
Instead of my usual whiskey, I order the frozen strawberry daiquiri she had that night.
Also pink. Also sweet. I take a sip and set it aside.
Nope, definitely not to my taste. I run my finger over the rim of the glass, remembering the man who bothered her.
I was pissed off, my protective instincts aroused.
I knocked him out in one blow. I still feel a certain level of satisfaction at that.
A bar fight erupted, and we ran out.
I head for Primrose Hill, park, and walk up the grassy slopes. It’s dark and deserted. The wind ruffles the leaves.
The scent of flowers and of the night air embraces me.
I reach the top and remember how she loved the view of the city at night. Then, like now, the city glittered. A witness to the feelings gripping me as I watched her.
My heart stutters in recollection. My pulse rate speeds up. I almost kissed her here, but we were interrupted. We strived to lighten the conversation after.
I didn’t want the night to end. So, I took her to my favorite Italian joint. I head back to the car and turn the Jeep toward it.
This was where we bonded over our shared love for cooking. We were different in so many ways. Yet, we had so much in common, too.
Something unfurls inside of me. I feel like I’m on the verge of stumbling across some truth. Something important. It’s there for a flash, then gone. I shake my head. I’m sure the thought… No, the feeling, will come back.
I head inside and get a portion of the pasta we ordered that night. I’m not hungry, but I force myself to take a few bites.
It feels important to recreate that night again. To go through the same motions I did with her. Perhaps, it will help me find the answers I’m looking for. Perhaps, it will help me understand what I need to do next.
I pay, and in half an hour, I'm parking at the foot of Waterloo Bridge. I head across it, pausing when I reach the center. I can see the London Eye and the Tower Bridge, all lit up. It’s where we stopped late that night.
My watch tells me it’s close to two a.m. The same time we arrived here that day.
Like that night, the bridge is deserted.
Except for the city lights, which kept us company. They were witness as I held her in my arms. And kissed her. And she kissed me back.
A thousand little butterflies seem to take flight in my chest. This feeling of being on the edge of something monumental…
This is what I felt then. It felt like I was on a rollercoaster and my life was no longer within my control.
My emotions were no longer my own. My heart…
I’d already given her my heart in that one kiss.
It was more than a meeting of our lips. It was a meeting of our souls. The culmination of a magical night, when we were so absorbed in each other, we didn’t feel the passage of time.
We didn’t make love with our bodies that night. But our hearts, our spirits, intertwined in a way that locked us in together and never let go over the years.
I remember her touch, the trembling of her curves against mine. She felt soft. She smelled delicious, like my favorite dream come true. She smelled like my future. Felt like hope.
I jam my fingers in my pocket. My fingers brush my…her hair tie. She dropped it in my Wrangler. I found it after I dropped her home.
I can remember every detail of that night. I never forgot it. Because I fell in love with her then.
The realization hits me like blindly walking into a plate glass door. It was right there all along, and I thought I could walk past without acknowledging it.
I've been so busy trying to control everything, I failed to notice that my desperate need for control was controlling me.
I've allowed my fears to dictate my actions. I convinced myself that keeping a leash on my emotions is a show of strength, when it's a show of cowardice.
But I am not a coward.
Facing my fears, embracing my feelings, and stating them out loud is the ultimate act of bravery. It’s how I take control of my future and create the life I truly want.
I glance at the lights of the city reflected in the dark waters of the Thames.
I need to tell her that I love her. She deserves to know the intensity of my feelings for her. I need to take the leap and join her on the precipice. It's time to stop hiding.
Mind made up, I spin around and head back to my Jeep.
Hold on, Ember, I’m coming.