Page 112 of The Strength Of A Woman

“Alone?”

I nod my head.

“I did everything alone.”

I chew thoughtfully, his eyes still on me as he enjoys his food.

“I just wanted to be left alone,” I say before picking a slice of cake.

I’ve always eaten like that, disorganized, mixing savory food with sweets, going back and forth, unable to follow the proper order of putting food into my mouth.

He notices what I'm doing and makes a comment.

“It’s a defensive mechanism,” I say, smiling. “Whenever I had food with my family, I wanted to be ready to walk out at any given moment, so I ate everything at once. A habit I picked up as a child.”

He finishes his food, refills my glass of wine and his, and hands me my drink.

“Speaking of your past,” he quietly says, propped on an elbow while looking at me. “Have there been other men like that one?”

I meet his eyes with candor.

“There have been men. That one and Julian were more ritualistic. The others were just regular jerks. People who talked down to me. Made vulgar comments about me.”

I collect the plates and napkins and put everything into the basket before I push it aside, so I can lie on my stomach next to him.

Staring at my glass of wine, I speak softly.

“Are you bothered by it?” I ask, not looking at him.

“No. I mean yes. I’d like to break their necks, but I’m not bothered personally, as a man. I know these things happen. It bothers me that no one has stepped in.”

Shifting, so I can prop myself on an elbow, I look at him.

“Stepping in would’ve had such deeper implications. It would’ve meant that they cared. If they cared, they would’ve needed to protect me. You know a lot about living a life of crime, yeah?”

He tilts his chin in response.

“You don’t want to have feelings for your victim,” I go on. “It makes it harder to remove them.”

I search his eyes, wondering if this is what he’s truly asking me.

Perhaps something else is hidden in his question.

Maybe he does want to know a few things about me as a woman, things that do affect him personally.

I expect him to continue asking me questions.

Instead, he takes the glass of wine from me and places it next to him.

“Let’s look at the stars,” he says, tucking a pillow under his head and nudging me to him.

His arm is my pillow as I glue myself to his side.

“I know why you like this,” he says after a while. “It feels like no one can take it away from you,” he murmurs in my hair, deep in thought. “Billions of stars twinkle across the sky, threading through a pathway of wonder, indifferent to us, mortals. We all come from there. We all go back there. And briefly, we have the chance to weave our lives together. It’s stunning if you think about it.”

He knocks the breath out of my lungs with his words.

“I couldn’t have said it better,” I say, realizing how much truth that bears, tossing me into a mini existential crisis. “What do you think will happen to us?” I murmur, listening to the soft music of the night.