lot more comfortable with the fact that I’d stewed in his Jacuzzi tub for well over an hour.
I left Bruno’s house feeling emotionally exhausted, but physically rejuvenated. Matt still hadn’t woken by the time I left, so I left him a note of love, support, and encouragement, and then I headed out with both of my bags in tow. I used Luke’s key to let myself back in the apartment, and that pretty much brought me to….
“Yeah,” I said, forcing a smile. “Good day.”
Luke slid the clip over the paper in his hands as he looked at me, and I continued to stare at him in awe.
It struck me as a little odd that the man I’d just played a friendly game of Truth or Dare with the night before was the same man sitting just a few feet away from me—obsessively organizing and color-coding his mail.
Lucas Reibeck had always been a bit of a mystery, and I’d never really been content with that fact. The longer I knew him, the more I felt like I didn’t know him at all. And as each day passed, I only found myself longing to know all the things he didn’t want me to know. It wasn’t so much curiosity that kept me interested in Luke’s obsessive-compulsive tendencies. It was just the fact that I loved him, and I wanted to know everything about the man I loved.
I wanted to talk to him, probe him with questions.
I wanted to know how long he’d been compelled to act the way he did.
But I couldn’t.
I couldn’t say a word.
The one thing Luke had asked me—in return for his openness and honesty—was to learn to respect the fact that he wasn’t going to share every detail about his life. He felt that I had a tendency to stick my nose where it didn’t belong, and I had a hard time finding a good argument for that. Because I, Julie Little, had a terrible time minding my own business. And yes! Nosiness was in my blood, so it took every ounce of restraint I had to go against those natural tendencies.
Yes. I wanted to know everything about him, and it made me crazy that he didn’t want to share. But who was I to point fingers? It seemed a little hypocritical to get upset. I had no right to complain because I’d been doing the same thing to him all along.
I could do exactly what I’d been instructed to do, exactly what Dr. Norwood had asked—open up, divulge my deepest, darkest secrets, and wait idly by while he formed some kind of response.
But how would that help? There were so many risks that came with honesty.
What if I opened up and confided in him? What if I told him everything I’d told Dr. Norwood, everything that I’d told Grace? Would he finally be comfortable enough to talk to me ? Would he let me in? Or would he just sit there and stare, unable to come up with any kind of response? Would he finally realize just how toxic I was and ask me to leave? Would it be too much for him?
I pulled my purse off the coat rack again, carried it across the room, and sat down on the couch next to Luke.
He kept his eyes fixed on me as I reached inside the largest purse pocket and dug around. Through countless receipts, candy wrappers, and a few too many tubes of lip gloss, my fingers finally brushed across the one thing I’d been searching for.
“Prazosin,” I said, revealing an orange pill bottle. I slid the sealed container across the table and avoided his stare. “Dr. Norwood says I’m suffering from post-traumatic stress— I guess that wasn’t really a secret . She thinks it’s the over production of adrenaline in my system that’s causing the nightmares, and this medicine is supposed to help.”
Luke eyed the pill bottle for a second, and then he met my stare.
“I’ll be honest,” I said, licking my dry lips. “It might as well be candy. It hasn’t helped at all.”
I pulled the dream journal out of the front pocket and clutched it between my fingers.
“And I told you about these—the rewritten endings to my nightmares.” I said, flipping through the pages.
Luke nodded, and I flipped
Madeleine Urban ; Abigail Roux