He scowls. “Your life is made of strange paradoxes.”
“You’re telling me?”
Malice stares into the phone screen, with that absolute curiosity that only cats can exhibit.
A smile curves his lips. "She’s definitely cute, what’d you say her name is?”
"Malice.”
He chuckles. “Suits her.”
Malice jumps off me and the bed, then pads toward the door, tail held high behind her.
"I think she misses Harper too.”
“Does she know about your OCD?”
I hesitate. “I haven’t told her yet.”
“Maybe you should?”
“I absolutely should.” I drag my fingers through my hair.
But every time I want to tell her, the fear of feeling vulnerable, the shame at being seen as less than, and the worry that it could change how she sees me, stops me.
Maybe, if I told her about my PTSD and OCD, she'd change her mind about loving me.
But keeping it a secret makes it difficult to accept that she loves me. It makes me feel unworthy of her.
She is perfect… Me? I’m flawed.
It’s why I find it difficult to stand on the precipice with her.
To open myself up to her and allow her to see my weaknesses feelslike the ultimate act of trust. Of love. Of courage. Of believing in her. In us.
I swallow hard. My pulse kicks up. Tension grips my muscles.
I grab the back of my neck and squeeze. “Why does this have to be so complicated?”
“By this you mean, love?” Tristan’s lips curve, but his eyes are serious.
Yes, exactly. But I don’t say that aloud. Instead, I glance out the window at the lights of the city.
“I did begin to seek counselling for it,” I admit.
His eyebrows rise. “You did?”
I nod slowly. “By managing my OCD, my PTSD, too, can be controlled. I want to make sure my condition doesn’t put her at risk again.”
I give him a brief outline of what happened when she tried to wake me from my nightmare. The moment was traumatic. I immediately knew I needed professional help to manage it.
When it was just me, it didn’t matter so much. But with my wife in the mix, I feel a responsibility to fix myself, so she’s safe.
“Perhaps, it will help you be more open about your feelings?” Tristan tilts his head.
I certainly hope so. I hope the next time I have the opportunity to speak my mind, I take it.
Tristan eyes me closely, and whatever he sees must reassure him, for he jerks his chin. “Gotta go, buddy. I’m working on a new project, which just reached a critical phase.”
