Page 18

Fall

“ He is good for me, like a leaf I must change.”

—Ivy

F all has always been my favorite season.

The thought of the world winding down after a busy summer.

The feel of the crisp yet clear air captivating my lungs like taking my first breath— slow but rewarding.

The noise of a crisp apple as you bite into it, breaking the skin in the middle of the orchard, the scent of comfort all around you.

The vibrant orange and red leaves fall around me, and for a moment, my world is so quiet I can hear my heartbeat in the wind, dancing to the crash of the leaves from the tall, meticulously vibrant maple trees that bless New England every year.

I am still convinced little elves hand-paint each leaf while the world sleeps.

One minute, the world is green, and then you wake up and find it blossomed into beauty beyond.

Letting out a deep breath, I watch as it blends into one with the air of the world, gazing in the distance, taking it all in.

I’m always amazed watching a breath leave my body in exhale.

You can visibly see it happening, but if you continue watching, you see the beauty of it becoming one with the world.

For our breaths, it is beautiful beyond; for humans, it is not.

We are all part of this world, and if we aren’t careful, we become like the air escaping our lungs into the frigid cold.

Individuals for a moment; after time, the world blends you into it, sinking its claws into you, stripping you of all individuality.

Each year becoming less of who you are and more of what you should be.

What the world wishes to see.

Until one day, you look in the mirror, and the reflection is someone you don’t even recognize.

I sit here, taking in all the views the seclusion the New England countryside has to offer.

The mountains meticulously lined with tall pines and maples, like that of a Bob Ross painting.

The sound of the river raging as we just had a good downpour.

Luckily, it wasn’t enough to affect the leaves too much—Fuck, I hate when that happens.

Through the downpour, the boulders that run across the river and on its banks are still exposed, reminding me that although our surroundings may try to affect us or lead us astray, we are capable of standing firm in our beliefs, unmoved and unchanged if we fight hard enough.

Well, normal people, not me.

The word change keeps repeating in my head as I take a seat on the bench swing, suspended by beautiful chains with twine flowing through, anchored by knots underneath.

It is my favorite place in this home besides my studio.

It hangs above a perfectly crafted white wrap-around porch that reaches completely around the home.

Nestling into a wool blanket covered in harvest leaves, sipping on a freshly brewed cup of iced coffee, I look out, swaying with the wind as if I am a leaf dancing with the breeze.

Starbucks is over an hour’s drive, so I have mastered how to re-create my favorite drink at home—a venti brown sugar shaken espresso with a splash of vanilla sweet cream, vanilla cold foam with a maple syrup drizzle, and a shake of cinnamon to top it off.

It’s fifty-two degrees this morning; brisk would be an understatement for someone like Tayden, who’s spent years down south.

But to native New Englanders like me who have never left, it feels perfect.

Meanwhile, I’m bundled up like a Nor’easter just occurred: gloves, hat, slippers, and my robe, yet here I am drinking an iced coffee.

All these months later, I’m left still fighting the cold and the effects it has on me always attempting to suck me back into it—into him.

Fuck I miss him so much.

I think the reason I love fall so much is because it is the season of change, even though growing up, it felt like I never got to truly enjoy it, always being stuck in a compound of torture.

It is still somehow my favorite.

Sure, they let us out every once in a while, as did my father, but I wanted more.

I spent many days pretending I was piling up leaves with friends my dad would let me have over, running and diving into them like ticks were a thing of the past, shooting miniature pumpkins from a massive slingshot, sipping hot cocoa and freshly made donuts at movie night outside on a projector being scared with my friends.

I imagine I would have played hockey and learned to ice fish.

Sadly, these were only memories of my dreams and never my reality.

Over the years, every spring, I craved fall, and every summer,I began praying for our first snowfall, patiently waiting, hoping to finally have a year to bring my desires to reality.

I enjoy New England winters more than most.

I have always welcomed them.

For those few minutes they allowed me outside, the moment I’d leave the door, it was like his arms embraced me, and I could feel him.

The wind, his whisper that he was with me, the temperature, his blanket around me.

I can admit, though, that sometimes they do drag out too long.

This year, I am dreading winter’s arrival since his departure.

What can I say? I have loved the cold since I was a little girl.

Now, as a woman who has experienced all it had to offer this year with Tayden, I recognize its dangers more than ever.

It ignites me in completely different ways and for very different reasons.

The feel of ice coursing on my flesh is one of the most electrifying things in my world.

Every snowflake on open skin feels like a kiss from above, but it is mostly a reminder of my past, one my future has no place for.

But fall is magical; emotionally, it’s a reset for nature that you can physically see and feel, a shedding of the old to welcome the new.

I’ve worked my whole life reaching for perfection, but I am far from it.

It would be a reach to say I’m even perfectly flawed—just flawed in more ways than humans I’ve ever encountered.

I work at them every single day, but fall is a reminder that change is possible but that it also comes and goes.

So, it is fitting that every fall, I feel the need to shift and dig into my healing journey even more.

I chalk it up to my Pisces side always feeling the need to morph out of reality into a magical, majestic world.

Fall is enchanting.

However, this year, I didn’t realize what was coming, nor how different it would make me feel this year.

A leaf rushes through the air as I watch it twist in the wind, suddenly dropping on top of my lap.

I pick it up, examining the veins that perfectly stretch out to the tips of each point with oranges and reds placed so randomly but merged together so beautifully, thinking to myself, This is exactly as it was designed to be.

I can’t help but wonder as I twirl the stem through my fingers the same thing I’ve asked myself since I can remember.

Who was I designed to be sitting here right now? What would today have looked like if my younger self would have had less “fall” in her life and more stability?

Bear’s howl pulls me from my thoughts, each one getting louder as he closes the distance between us.

The creek of the screen door opening can only mean one thing… he must be awake.

I look over to my left and see him in all his glory stepping out onto the porch in gray sweats, no T-shirt, rubbing his hands together as the brisk of the morning encases his body, walking towards the porches banister, glancing to me, as Bear leaps off the porch into freedom.

“Good morning, beautiful. Did you get any sleep last night?”

God, how did I get this lucky?

Seriously though, a girl like me, burned and drugged through the trenches of torture and abuse, personality-altering pain, and agony, gets him? Someone compassionate and understanding, who not only accepts my flaws but the demons that still exist in my world each and every day? He finds a way every day to love them and works every moment to heal inside of me what others have broken. I know I should feel lucky, but I can’t help but feel unworthy, like a fraud. People like me don’t get men like him, yet here I sit, lucky beyond measure, as a huge part of me feels so empty, a little more broken since the karate studio.

Why can’t I truly feel lucky all the time? Why can’t I ever feel okay? Maybe I will by next fall.

“I mean, sleep is overrated, so no, but I did, however, get enough,” I reply, patting my hand on the empty spot of the bench next to me, hoping he will join me for a morning chat. Pushing himself off the porch he heads toward me shouting for Bear as he veered off into the thick fall tree line. I am sure he is chasing a deer or wild animal. That is Bear, after all—the wild animal control of his seventy-six acres.

“How was your sleep? You looked so peaceful when I awoke this morning. I tried not to bother you. I know you needed as much as you could get.” And you looked extremely alluring . I refrain from disclosing how I laid there for a bit, just watching him sleep in peace and sexual grandeur because watching someone sleep isn’t exactly normal.

Last night, we had a long talk about everything that has transpired.

It was one of the most honest conversations we have had to date.

I finally told him about my indiscretions with T over the last year.

I didn’t tell him everything, not about the house, nor about Red, but not all secrets need to be spilled at once.

Although he handled it well, I could tell it killed him a little inside with what each word revealed, but it’s progress in my hopes to open up more.

He didn’t have much to say as I expected, but I truly heard what he did express for the first time in a long time.

He opened up more than he ever had to me, more than I ever thought he could, which, thinking back, wasn’t much.

The conclusion; understanding and a request for it to not continue.

It was a look in the mirror, if you will, tragic but something about it felt so admirable.

The tone in his voice rang through every bone in my body, and the look on his face is forever imprinted in my mind.

I feel guilty for all that has transpired through the years, but a part of me doesn’t, and I fucking hate that.

I have never had any control over my love for Tayden, not since the day I laid eyes on him all those years ago.

It is truly a connection of two souls, not of the heart—forever intertwined in all that is inhuman and unconscious.

It hurts knowing how much I hurt Liam, but loving him was never the issue.

It was not loving him first, not knowing him when my version of true love was formed—when I would have needed him the most.

Not that I don’t need him now, but I was a child, impressionable, especially to any type of emotion I had never received.

I was so distraught searching for normalcy, and instead of finding that, I found T, who showed me everything life could be, what it should be, and for my young mind, turned adult mind, it was like cocaine feeding and filling a void over and over again that everyone else stripped away.

Tayden gave me all I ever yearned for—unconditional love, but most of all, understanding and acceptance.

He saved me and gave me purpose.

He was my glimmer of light in my world of darkness.

He fought the shadows that swarmed me day and night.

He was something to look forward to, look back on, and something to hope for.

Above all, he kept me alive, saving me time and time again.

Without him, there would be no story to tell, no Ivy to love, no family to create, and no Red to fill the villain role in my story.

He gave me years beyond what I ever thought I would have.

He gave me— me— and he gave Liam me.

“I mean, I slept. Not the best sleep I’ve ever had by any means, but I feel like I slept well, even better waking up, knowing you didn’t run back to the city. I wasn’t sure what my morning would bring,”

he retorts, staring at me like he is seeing straight through me, unsure if I am a vision he will manage to contain for days, hours, weeks, or even years to come.

I feel my anxiety racing through my body.

A lump forms in my throat, knowing all of his concerns and questions are my fault, all his heartache is my doing.

All of his doubts I put there by my own actions.

I would love to lace up my running shoes and just flee to my home Tayden built me, but this is my punishment.

This is my burden to bear.

I ache that he is the one carrying it.

God, why can’t I carry it for him?

“Yeah, I thought about pulling a ninja move last night, but you know I outgrew that uniform, and my moves aren’t as sly these days,” I joke, hoping to lighten the mood.

Shooting me his infamous half-grin, he reaches out, grabbing onto my hand across the cozy blanket, his touch so inviting. “You certainly had the moves last night, if memory serves, and they serve quite well, princess.” Countering me, brow raised, he moves his hand from mine, sliding it up my thigh. A snort rushes out before I can contain it, causing me to choke on my coffee.

“There he is. The Liam I love and adore; round two?” I ask, seduction written all over my face.Leaning into me, his face directly in front of mine, our bodies so close our oxygen is mixing with minimal travel time. His eyes locked in on mine, he releases his hand from my leg, sending pulsating episodes through my body, unsure of where it will land. Angst consuming every inch within me, throbs start circulating between my thighs, our eyes simply locked into one another like the world doesn’t exist.

Fuck I love the way he looks at me and all around me at the same time.

His hand brushes through my hair, grabbing hold of the side of my face in ownership yet endearment as he slowly skims past my mouth, landing at my ear. His breath taunting every urge inside of me, needing to be fulfilled.

“I don’t want just round two. I want to fuck you until your body gives out and your screams beg for me to stop. Then I want to fuck you even longer until I forgive you, princess.”

Oh, you want to play Liam? Okay, let’s play .

“Geez, Mr. Maddox, that sounds painful,”

“Isn’t that how forgiveness is best achieved? Nothing worth having can truly be owned without torture, can it? I am not God; I don’t forgive so easily.” His words taunt me like venom, a reminder of all the torture I bore to have T all those years, more specifically this past year. He is not wrong; love isn’t easy, but forgiveness is way more complicated. Attempting to climb into his mind, I bite.

“What did you have in mind?”

“I’ve been patiently waiting for you to ask, princess.”

“Patiently?”

“Oh, so patiently. Come here.”

Reaching out his hand, he pulls me from the comfort of my warmth bundled in the swing. I follow our hands in tow as he brings me into the house, the screen door slamming behind us. His warm hands encase my eyes from behind, turning the light into darkness. Taking away my sight, my other senses go into overdrive. His breaths waft against my neck as we waddle across the kitchen like two kids in a one-legged race, his breaths coming closer as his words fall into them.

“Are you finally ready to be freed in this home, princess?”

“Freed?” My anxiety builds, tingles racing up from my limbs, my knees heavier, my throat constricting as I try to swallow the feeling.

“Yes, princess, free to be, free with me. Always. ”

His words wreak havoc like a comet crashing into my mind, body, and soul concurrently.

I’m not sure how he knew I needed those words so badly.

With all the thoughts racing through my head lately, home sounds perfect.

I imagine freedom is like heaven with boundless limits, and I crave to be freed from everything, free from the vices living inside my head.

Liam, my ever and ever-Amen , always has the right words at the right time without any input from this pretty little head.

I wish I knew how he does it, how he knows me so deeply.

Six years, and I still prefer the simplicity of never asking and just enjoying the breath he breathes into me day after day, week after week, year after year.

I imagine there is a place in the stars written just for us.

Somewhere far off in the Milky Way, our relationship is mesmerizing, complicated, unknown layers of the perfect storm.

I pray, like with T, that our ever after is not unobtainable.

I find myself enjoying the view more and more, as uncomfortable as it makes me.

His words, his actions, his unwavering love for me, and the way he sees me without needing a road map, are the most healing offerings I could ever be gifted.

Love, fuck, maybe I am deserving after all.

Just maybe.

Slowly, we make our way down each step, my foot feeling for the edge of each one.

“You better not let me fall,” I blubber out in fear and laughter.

“Never. With me, your wings will never be clipped; the beauty in your feathers will always be admired. The story your flight pattern tells forever understood, and your ability to soar endlessly encouraged. With me, little bird, you will always have a place to land, never a place to fall, and if by chance you ever do, I will always catch you.”

“Swear?”

“Ever and ever-Amen, princess, you know this, it’s not just four words; it means something.”

“I love you, Liam. I really fucking love you.”

“I know, princess. I love you too, but right now , I just want to worship you.”

“Worship me?” I taunt, our feet sturdy on what I assume to be the basement floor.

“Yes, I want to worship all of you, the broken, the wrong, the beautiful, the strong, the hidden, the truth, the complicated. I want to worship every corner of what makes you, you. I want to feed your corners of darkness, making room for the light.”

“I got a dark spot waiting for some light, Mr. Maddox,” I tease, my words not even allowing me to execute them fully, laughter busting through the seams of them.

His throat releases a chuckle alongside mine; rescinding his hands from my eyes, he spins me towards him, his arms encasing me. Fuck, I love the way his arms swallow me, I love him. I love Liam fucking Maddox.

“I mean, I wouldn’t have worded it that way, but I think I can oblige.” His playful tone matching the grin across his face.

“Ever and ever-Amen, babes. Even when I’m cringe as fuck. That’s what you signed up for.”

Pulling me in, his lips meet mine, his tongue invading my mouth, and I’m whisked away, no longer worried about what’s to come.

“I love your cringe. You ready, princess?”

“I’m not sure. We doing like a one-two-three? Maybe a little spin kick? How are we doing this?”

“The door has been open, so I guess how you choose to spin around is purely up to you, princess.”

“Wa—wait, what? When?” Leaning into my ear, he whispers so softly, “When you were sucking my tongue into the depths of your throat.” His words sealed with a smack to my ass.

“Shut up, you liked it,” I gasp, smacking him on the chest with both hands.

Grabbing my wrists, he shoots them straight into the air, my hands feeling the cold of the trim lining the door, sending a frigid chill through my spine, his face lowering to mine, his soul searching me.

“Not my doomsday, princess, not yet anyways,” he growls.

“Implying it’s mine?” My confusion drips into my words.

“I told you I don’t forgive so easily.”

His words cut me unexpectedly, and although I know I should like them, I’m nervous and caught off guard.

Fear starts taking over.

I know I’ve made mistakes, and I do need to repent for them, but the thought of paying my debts in sex, if that’s even what’s on the other side of the open door behind me, takes me to a place I never want to revisit.

I know with him, that’s not even how it would be, but fuck me as the flashbacks begin seeping in.

I begin fighting the urge to shut down, but it’s all over my face, and the tingles remind me I am triggered, and all I can think about is running.

Suddenly, this surprise feels less intriguing and more like a memory of my past, not one to welcome a new beginning.

History repeats itself as I do what I do best, my head slumping down toward my feet, my eyes taking focus as I zone out in avoidance.

My vision blurs and I’m transported to my safe space.

The dissociation beginning against my will as my brain tries to recover.

My vision in full whiteout, time and sound standing still.

I’m frozen.

“Ivy, Ivy, Ivy, ”

he shouts, trying to pull me from my trance.

I can hear him off in the distance; it’s like he’s a world away from me, but I’m still aware he’s right here toe to toe with me.

My body begins to shake as he tries to get my attention.

My limbs swaying with the force of his hands around them, yet I can’t break contact, not until it allows me to.

It will happen shortly.

It always does.

Eventually, I always come to once my brain releases me.

Sometimes, it lasts seconds, and others, it lasts minutes.

One thing I have learned is there’s no fighting it.

Simply relishing in the peace it brings over me.

It’s so beautiful here in the silence, the calm, the white noise between worlds.

His last jolt pulls me back to reality, and in an instant, my eyes snap back to his.

“Sorry. I, uh, I—you were saying?”

“Ivy, you did it again. Are you okay?”

His hands feel so warm, like a heated blanket kissing my cheeks as he holds my face in his view.

He’s concerned, rightfully so.

Liam may feel he knows me and that Tayden is my only secret, but there is far more he doesn’t know.

Tayden is like a chip off the old block in comparison.

The tip of the iceberg, myself the Titanic, constantly drifting in its direction, catastrophe waiting patiently in the darkness of the waters.

I have wished on so many occasions that I could just completely melt in front of him and expose all I am to him, but history has never been kind when I have.

Men don’t want broken women, and if they do, they most certainly don’t truly want to know the truth of the cracks they must fill that someone placed in them, especially ones like mine.

He wouldn’t want me; they never do.

I’ve run off more men in my life testing the waters with the small shit to find; even that they couldn’t swallow.

I damn sure will not be the reason I lose Liam by sharing the big stuff.

I won’t allow them to ruin what I love a moment longer, so I stay visible in my best while keeping most of me locked in the darkness.

Where it was born, where it belongs, where it can’t take more from me than it has already claimed all these years.

My stories are not the kind to be told; no, they are meant for my torture only.

I refuse to let them torment someone else, much less ruin the one constant good human in my life that hasn’t shown me the exit.

“Yeah, babe. I’m fine. I promise. It was just a little daydreaming. I’m sorry. I’m fine; seriously, all is well.”

His eyes darken at my lies, momentarily giving me the feeling he doesn’t trust what I’ve just said to him, as if my lies are on full display, and once again, I am the villain. My fingers gently glide across his arms, trying to prove with my gesture that I am fine.

I’m not; he knows it, just as I. There are so many euphoric feelings racing through my flesh as confusion and forgetfulness whisk through my thoughts.

I can’t help but try to remember what we were talking about.

“What were you saying?” I ask, my hands squeezing onto his arms, my lips parting in calculated laughter, hoping to sell my lies further.

The door slams behind me, causing my head to snap towards it; deep green paint is all to see. Searching for his face, I find my words.

“What are—” cutting me off within seconds, the vibrations of his deep and rustic voice cover mine.

“Nothing, princess. We were heading down to the parlor so I can once again beat your pretty little ass in a round of pool. Mimosa or whiskey?”

He is lying to me. He was going to show me something, the surprise he was working on . Fucking Liam, always trying to protect me without ever knowing what I need protection from. Guilt barrels into me, and I feel horrible. I ruined his surprise. Fucking idiot, Ivy. You’re a fucking idiot.

“No, you were showing—” I try to insist, but once again, he cuts me off.

“No, we weren’t. After you,” he bites, his tone forceful, and I love him even more in this moment. How he knows me to my core, I will never understand. How he has the patience for me is so undeserving, but fuck, I love him more each time he does his magic trick.

Leading the way, I make a left leaving his surprise behind as I head down the hall making my way towards the parlor, his hand in tow with mine as he follows behind. Looking back, I flash him a smile, his in return making me feel a little less shitty.

“So, what’s on the playlist for the day, princess? Is it a 90s garage band day, a 90s hip hop day, or possibly a 90s country?”

“You already know the answer to that, sweet man,” I tease, skipping over to the wooden rack grabbing a pool stick. Chalking it up nicely, I’m startled by his dislike of my gesture.

“Don’t ever call me that,” he growls.

“Geez, I was just trying to be sweet. It’s not that serious, babe.” Avoiding the awkwardness now filling the room, I begin chalking up my hands, avoiding all eye contact he may have with me altogether.

“It is; just as you have your quirks, I have mine, and sweet man is off limits. Please respect it as I do yours is all I’m asking. I didn’t mean to shout at you. I’m sorry, but please don’t use it again. I love you. Whiskey or mimosa?”

“I understand. I’m sorry. I won’t say it again. I’m thinking maybe it’s a Budweiser day. You got that back there?”

“Alexa, play 90s summer jams on Pandora,” I shout, teasing him, my nose curled up, knowing damn well he never takes our Budweiser days for granted. His shimmy behind the bar confirms his excitement.

“You know it’s always on tap, princess. Budweiser day, huh? It’s been a while since our last one, and if I remember correctly, it took you three days to recover.”

“Then maybe this time we do a little more cardio before we pass out so I can burn more of the alcohol out of my system then.”

“We broke the fucking bed last time, on round five . I’m pretty sure you burned more than possible. It’s okay. I’ll take care of you; I always do.” Grabbing his lucky Patriots Super Bowl championship hat from the bar, sliding it on backwards, I drink him in. Those grey sweatpants, that fucking hat, fuck Liam. Closing the distance between us, reaching out, I grab my beer with just the perfect amount of head from his hand as our glasses clink.

“You always do. Cheers.”

“Cheers.”

“Now, are you ready to get your ass wiped up and down this pool table?” I tease, knowing damn well that my words are one hundred percent true. He may be amazing at everything he touches, but pool has always been my championship, especially with him. Growing up, it seemed no matter where I landed, there was always a pool table. I started so young, and with no life or friends, I found comfort in the stability and consistency of the game. Who doesn’t like breaking some balls? As I got older, it became a great party trick to pick up men, so I’m seasoned, but knowing him, in just a few minutes, he’s going to try to convince himself he even has a shot, like he does every other Budweiser day, to only lose every damn time. I find his persistence endearing, though. His game has certainly improved since we started dating, but he has the best teacher.

“Yah, yah, this one is mine.”

“Like the last one and the one before that for every Budweiser day we’ve ever had for six years now?”

“You never remember it correctly, princess. I haven’t lost them all.”

“Ummm, I’m pretty sure you have. That old age must be getting to you. What are we betting this time?”

“Ha, old? Thirty-three isn’t old. Nothing, today it’s just us, the 90s vibes, fun, and a W for Team Maddox.”

“Yeah, keep dreaming; it’s cute, though.”

“What’s cute?” he questions.

“That you actually think you can beat me, it’s cute, false , but cute.” I shrug.

“Eventually, the student always beats the teacher. You’ll eat your words by dusk or the toilet calling dinosaurs; either way, I’m taking the W.”

“Alright, alright, tough guy, you going to break those balls before I break yours?”

“Ladies first.”

“Yeah, that’s why I told you to go,” I taunt him, bringing my beer to my lips, my nose curling in my humor, and it works. Before I can even place my glass down, he’s chasing me around the table, and I’m running for my life to avoid his tickles. Both of us darting back and forth on opposing sides of the table. I fake left and run right in a desperate attempt to make it to the hallway, but I’m short just a few feet before he swoops me up from behind with one arm by my waist, my legs kicking and arms flailing as his fingers dig into my sides tickling me relentlessly.

“I told you, I’ll always catch you, Miss Reed.”

“Okay, okay, you win.” I yelp between my words, my laughs intermixed with snorts. His tickles driving me wilder by the minute.

“Point proven. Let me down, Liam,” I object.

Granting me freedom, my feet find comfort in the floor as he squeezes me tightly. His nose nestles in my neck, and I can’t help but love these little moments between us.

“I’ll never let you down. If I ever do, I promise to always find a way to fix it.”

“I know you will, ever and ever—Amen; it means something, remember?”

“Yeah, it does.” Spinning me around, his hands brush through the sides of my hair, his palms one with the flesh of my warm cherry-stained cheeks, as his scruff brushes against my lips. His nose giving me the best Eskimo kisses ever before he pulls my lips to his. He’s gentle, his kiss soft, his lips perfect. No words are traded, just Sublime and Santeria in the background.

“ I feel the break, feel the break ,” he softly sings on my lips, swaying our hips back and forth to the music. I know what he’s really trying to say; he wants me to break the balls meticulously racked on the side of the table.

“Yah, yah, I get it. I’ll break the balls.”

“Break ‘em good, my brown-eyed girl. I don’t want you going easy on me. I want to relish in my victory against you, every fucking pocket of it.”

“Keep dreaming. I’m going to make this one hurt.”

“Promise?”

“Always.”