Foryears.
It adds up.The criticism shifts from his words to my own, but I still hear his voice pointing out my many flaws, sapping my confidence in myself, zapping any notion of feeling sexy or beautiful or desirable.
"Morgan?"Noah's voice snaps me back to the present, and I realize I've been blindly following him into the woods, walking on autopilot as my mind goes into Super Overthinker Mode ™.
I stop walking, close my eyes, and focus on my breathing, trying to banish the voices."Sorry, I'm just in my head."
I feel him take my hand and press something small, round, and cold into my palm.I open my eyes and see a quarter face up in my hand."Your thoughts are worth more than a penny."
I snicker."Nice line," I say, grinning at him.
"I thought so," he says, playfully brushing imaginary dust off one shoulder."But for real.I'd love to know what's got you in your head."
I groan."No, you really wouldn’t.It's not a happy place, sometimes."I start walking again."And we're having a nice time together.If I shared my thoughts, it'd turn all shitty and I want to have fun."
We walk in silence for a while, and I wonder if he heard me, if he has a response to that at all.
I should know better.
We reach a fork in the trail; there's a trail marker, a sign explaining which way to go for a longer or shorter hike, and a bench in case you need to sit and decide.
Noah sits on the bench and stretches his long legs out.
"Tired already?"I quip."Thought you were working on your conditioning for the game."
"You don't owe me anything, obviously, but I'd still like to know what had you in your head like that, Morgan.We agreed we wouldn't play games.Pretending you're fine if you're not is suspiciously game-like, if you ask me."He takes my hand, threads our fingers together."We've both been through a lot.Some conversations are gonna be heavy.That's okay.We can have funanddeal with the heavy shit.Can't have one without the other—that's just life."
"I have insecurities."
He snorts."Welcome to being a person.We all do."
"Yes, but mine come in the form of all the shitty, critical things my ex used to say to me about my body.Bonus points because I hear them in his voice."
"Saying what?"
I duck my head, roll a shoulder.“My boobs are too small.My ass is too flat.No one wants to sleep with a woman with a belly.I'm wrinkly.I've got stretch marks.Cellulite.Gray hairs.My legs are so disproportionately long that I look like a horse."I snort."That last one is a direct quote."
"As in your husband said it to you, out loud?"He sounds equal parts shocked and horrified.
I nod.“He did."
"And he's still alive?"
"He had a knack for saying stuff like that in a situation where I couldn't rip him a new one without creating a scene, which I'm violently allergic to.My mom used to have very public breakdowns in, like, the supermarket or whatever."
"Fucking evil."
"He was an asshole.But he kept the true scope of his assholery hidden until it was too late.Sort of like slowly turning the heat up to cook a lobster.The TBI changed him, though, so I can't really say if he wasalwaysan asshole, if the TBI turned himintoan asshole, or if it just brought out more of the asshole that was already there."
"Doesn't matter.There's no excuse for vile bullshit like that."
I flip the quarter off my thumb and catch it, watching it glint in the sunlight."I don't disagree."
The next time I flip the quarter, his big, rough hand flashes out and catches it before I can; as intended, the move draws my eyes to his."Your ex was clearly a feckless goon who didn't deserve a single second of your attention."His palm brushes my cheek, and my heart hammers at the soft contact."He was dead wrong about everything."
I smile."I appreciate that, Noah.Thank you."
"Doesn't silence the voice, though, huh?"
