Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 121054 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 605(@200wpm)___ 484(@250wpm)___ 404(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121054 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 605(@200wpm)___ 484(@250wpm)___ 404(@300wpm)
She stood awkwardly and reached for the black wool coat she’d tossed over the other armchair. “Neil, you will call me, won’t you?”
He turned from the window. “Of course I will. At the moment, though, it sounds as though you have things in hand.”
As I walked her to the door, I could tell that she really did feel badly over what was happening. She cared about Neil—more than I was comfortable with, that was for sure—and I understood feeling helpless and wanting to help at the same time. But, aside from the business aspect and her possible intervention with her brother, this wasn’t about her and Neil. It wasn’t even about me and Neil. It was about Neil and Stephen, and I was pretty sure I knew exactly what had happened between them.
When Valerie was gone, I went back to the sitting room. Neil wasn’t there. I went to the kitchen and found him already finishing off one of Michael’s beers.
“Hey,” I said cautiously. “You know it’s, like, one, right?”
He grimaced and set the empty bottle on the counter. “It’s not before noon, Sophie. And I am in no mood.”
“You seem really upset,” I began, wondering how I would broach the subject if he was “in no mood.” I leaned against the refrigerator and crossed my arms. I didn’t say anything when he opened the beverage cooler and pulled out a bottle of red wine.
At least it wasn’t whiskey, although I was sure that would come into play at some point later.
“I am upset.” He paused to twist the corkscrew in. “Please don’t patronize me, Sophie. Anyone would be upset at this news.”
I nodded in agreement. “But you seem…shaken. Is there anything you want to tell me that you couldn’t say to me in front of Valerie?”
The look he gave me was one of dark understanding. I knew, without having to ask. But I did, anyway. “Neil, was Stephen the Dom who raped you?”
He made a noise of disgust. “Don’t use that word. It’s so melodramatic.”
“Fine. Was he the Dom who wouldn’t stop?” I didn’t know why he felt there was a distinction between the two. “He was, wasn’t he?”
He took a wine glass from the dishwasher and filled it. “He was.”
I was pretty sure the feeling in my chest was what it felt like to get shot with a paintball gun at close range. “He can’t do this,” I blurted, as though saying it would undo it.
“He can.” Neil swallowed half the wine in his glass in one gulp. “Stephen never admitted to any wrongdoing.”
“But, if he writes about it, people will know—”
“Do you believe he’ll write about my experience, or his?” Neil demanded. “Stephen believes he’s an excellent Dom. He never believed his behavior was abusive. He told me the problem was that I was naturally dominant, and I didn’t understand what it was like to be submissive.”
Neil’s hand shook as he lifted the glass again.
I didn’t know the specific details about what had happened. If Neil wanted to tell me, I would listen. But I wouldn’t press him, right now.
At a loss, I asked, “Do you want a hug?”
That was my default comforting move, but he flinched at the very mention. “No. Please, just…don’t touch me. Until I calm down.”
Whatever that asshole had done to Neil to make him like this, I wanted to track him down and squeeze the air out of his throat. I was killing mad. My usually unshakeable Neil was fractured and falling now. Because of Stephen, because of Neil’s memories of him, and I couldn’t do anything about it. I had to watch helplessly as the damage the asshole had inflicted continued to victimize the man I loved more than anyone else in the world.
“Can I do anything for you?” I asked.
“You can let me drink myself into a stupor,” he snapped. “Without judgment or lectures about my supposed problem.”
While one part of me thought it was totally reasonable for someone to have a drink in this situation, another part recoiled at his defensiveness. It meant he knew his behavior was self-destructive, he just didn’t care.
He took the bottle and left the glass, stalking from the kitchen in a huff. His anger was only directed at me, I knew, because if he were angry at Stephen, he would have to remember everything that had been done to him.
I followed him. “I know you want to be alone, right now. But I can’t let you.”
He stopped at the bottom of the stairs. “Don’t be histrionic, Sophie. I’m not going to harm myself. I’m angry, not suicidal.”
“You shouldn’t have to be angry by yourself,” I insisted, walking up behind him. “Neil, just let me help you.”
“You can’t help!” he shouted. “Can you change the past? Can you stop this book from releasing?”
I was glad Emma and Michael had gone to the airport to see Runólf and Geir off. They didn’t need to hear us having a shouting match on the stairs. Especially not about this.