Page 90 of Isolation

Yes, Raven has the right to discuss and disclose her trauma at her own pace. However, she just tried to stab herself with a fucking knife.

Safety concerns have to trump timing at this point. I am shaken to my core.

I just got used to being surrounded by her presence. Raven with my family. Raven in this house. Raven in my office. Raven at every meal. Raven in my arms.

Raven. Raven. Raven. It’s still not fucking enough. The smell of vanilla needs to be imprinted. More secure. More permanent. None of that will happen if she slips out of my fingers again.

“I rather hang out with you,” I shrug because it’s the truth despite what just happened.

“Aren’t we Prince Charming,” Raven says in a monotone voice.

“Only for you.”

“I should go back to my room,” she pushes off me. “I don’t want to distract you from work.”

She is pissed.

Really fucking pissed.

I get it. She can’t help her adverse reactions. She is starting to feel frustrated over something that she has no control over. The emotion is understandable.

“Baby,” I say patiently. “We have to talk about what just—”

“I know,” Raven cuts me off.

“You have every right to go at your own pace,” I follow up.

“I know.”

“You do?”

“Yes.” Raven stands a few feet away from me as she fixes her clothes.

I stand as well and grab a pair of sweatpants from the ground. “Is there anything I can do to help you feel more comfortable about sharing?”

Raven paces my room. Her eyes flicker to me every so often, as if sizing me up, trying to get a feel of me. She looks tense, irritated, and impatient, all mixed in one. I see her analytical brain moving at rapid speed, as if trying to draw a conclusion.

“It would help if I could ask you more questions about your past,” she finally says.

I don’t know why it helps for her to know about my past, but I am not in the position to deny her. I am eager to expedite this process before something worse happens.

“Sure,” I sigh.

“You said that you haven’t had sex in the last few years.”

“That’s correct.”

“So, the last time you had sex—”

I don’t let her finish that thought and blurt out, “The day before you left for Paris.”

We both take an audible breath.

There are two significant nights in our lives. Both of them are the two worst nights of our respective lives. The last time we had sex and the night before Raven left for Paris.

The last time we had sex was the “incident.” It was the worst night of my life.

The night before Raven left for Paris was the worst night of her life.