Page 95 of Every Silent Lie

Burst and cause irrevocable damage.

And I did.

To myself, to my husband, to my family, and to my job.

I lost them all.

Pushed them away. I harnessed the hatred inside me and made them all hate me. I didn’t want any of them if I couldn’t have Noah. Life was just so empty, to the point I wondered how I lived before him. What was my purpose? Who was I if I wasn’t Mummy? And now I’m sitting here in a bathtub with a man who’s telling me he loves me despite all of that, and I’m thrown by my feelings toward him. Have been since the day I met him, because I’m not supposed to feel anything but sadness, guilt, and grief.

Desire, amusement, peace? None of them should be in my life. How could they be?

And still, he watches me, watches it all pour out, tears, snot, chokes, snivels, and horrid, wretched sobs. I can’t even wipe my face because he’s still holding my wrists. It just won’t stop coming, the dam open, not closing until it’s drained dry. At least for today. This is three years’ worth of emotion gushing out of me, and with each painful, messy, loud minute, my body becomes that little bit looser. My muscles relax. My chest doesn’t squeeze so hard.

Because he loves me.

Spreading his bent legs, Dec slides me into them and cocoons me, my body bunched, his arms circling my back. He holds me until my body stops jerking and my snivels fade to light, sporadic catches of breath. “I love you,” he whispers into my hair.

And I nod.

December 16th

Something’s different inside me. It’s like the storm that’s been gusting through me for the past few years, ripping me apart, has suddenly settled. Everything’s still. Calm. And the mess that it’s left behind, the broken pieces of my life, are patiently being gathered up.

By Dec.

I love you so much, my heart aches for you. I love the way you can be in perfect silence, and I can be in it with you. I love the way you hate Christmas, but it breaks me to now know why.

He’s saving fragments I never thought could ever be saved, gathering splitters of my life and putting them back together to make less jagged, damaging parts.

He’s a lifeline.

My face is tight, my eyes sore, but I open them, squinting at the low light. My cheek is pressed into his chest, my hand on his pec, my thigh thrown over his. His hand’s resting lightly on my knee.

Warm.

I feel so warm.

I gingerly peel my face from his chest and peek at him.

And lose my breath.

This beautiful man somehow loves me. He’s seen something worth saving. Seen what I could never. That makes me love him more than he could ever understand, but I hope I get to show him. Pray I do.

Slowly and carefully, I move up his body until my mouth is level with his, my boobs crushed into his naked chest. I scan his face, every beautiful bit of it, dipping and pressing a light kiss on the corner of his mouth. He smells like sleep and man.

A lazy throb starts to dully thump against my thigh, and I freeze and hold my breath when I feel him stirring. My body responds, a heaviness falling between my legs. The air suddenly feels thick, and I pull back just a fraction so I can get him in my sights. His eyelids flicker, his lips part. Waiting for him to open them feels like an eternity.

“Open,” I whisper, reaching for his hair and combing my fingers through.

His eyes pop open on a small hitch of breath, his sleepy gaze meeting mine immediately. How those grey eyes shine. The throbbing against my leg becomes more intense, and in answer my insides start to pulse. It’s a long few moments of gazing, and when I realise Dec’s not going to make the first move—because . . . Dec—I take the lead, lowering my lips to his. He keeps his eyes open, as do I, and when our tongues brush, he exhales heavily, cupping the back of my head and rolling me onto my back. My thighs cradle him, his hips shift, my legs spread, and he pushes into me painstakingly slowly, his exhale ragged, my inhale long and deep. The moment he’s filling me to the hilt, he stills, giving us both a moment to adjust, deepening his kiss. My hands are on a feeling frenzy across his back as he drags his lips up my cheek and rests them on my forehead. Connected physically as closely as two humans can be connected. But this is more than that. I don’t look at Dec and see escape in the pleasure of his body. I look at him and want to walk into his chest and be held. I look at him and see hope. I look at him and feel my heart burst with love and appreciation.

He withdraws and advances slowly, and I graze my fingertips down his spine as he kisses his way back to my mouth and sweeps his tongue through. His body stills, as does his lips, and he pulls his shoulder blades in on a soft hiss into my mouth. “Tickles,” he murmurs, as he kicks inside of me. My fingers pause. “Don’t stop.” Pushing into his forearms, he lifts his torso a tiny bit, his chest peeling away from my boobs, and he slowly inches out and works his way back inside me. “I like it.” Grey eyes glisten down at me as I try to remember to breathe while he takes me to the clouds. His usually well-groomed stubble is scruffier, his mussed hair mussier.

I work my fingertips farther down, circling over his backside, and back up again, going extra slow, applying the faintest of pressure, watching with fascination as his eyes become heavier and his chest expands. A suppressed groan vibrates at the back of his throat, his rhythm faltering. “Jesus.” He swoops down and claims my mouth again, finding his pace again, slow, meticulous, bloody beautiful. I moan my pleasure, my back bowing, my head shaking. He finds my throat and licks up the column to my ear, biting down on my lobe.

“Dec,” I breathe, slipping my hands into his hair and clenching fistfuls. Oh God.

“Tell me how it feels,” he whispers, his low, grainy voice in my ear shoving me closer to the edge.