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She cocks her head to the side. “Next, I thought I’d go find the pool. There must be one in this place.”
“Oh, of course. It’s just out?—”
“I’m joking, Ben. There’s no way anyone missed the massive pool directly in front of the house.”
“Right. Perfect. Well, I’ll meet you out there in a few.”
She tosses one more concerned glance in my direction before skipping up the stairs and out of view.
I collapse. Straight up collapse onto the hard stone steps. I roll onto my back and groan, every muscle in my body protesting something—what I can’t quite tell. All I know is that I feel broken. And, based on my level of fitness, and my self-induced punishing workouts, I have a feeling the break wasn’t physical.
Chapter Twelve
Ben
By the time I make it out to the patio to join Victoria in the pool, she’s made herself at home in a giant flamingo floatie with a glass of iced tea. Her little red bikini barely covers any of her luscious body.
“Hey,” I say as I stop at the edge of the deep end, watching her.
She sits upright too quickly, almost capsizing her comical little boat.
“Oh, hey,” she says, shielding her eyes from the sun with one hand. “I was just about to come find you, make sure you were still alive.”
I smile at that. “Yes, you look very concerned.”
A sassy smirk flashes across those gorgeous features. “Get in. the water’s nice.”
“I think I’ll take a chaise for now.”
I don’t have it in me to slip into the cool water right now. I feel like I’m barely keeping it together to the point that even that small change in my body temperature might send me right over the edge.
I settle in the chaise lounge closest to her in the shade and close my eyes. The sound of her paddling her flamingo over to the side of the pool makes me smile.
“Hey, I wanted to say that…” She pauses and I raise my eyebrows, eyes still closed. “I didn’t mean to ruin your thing down there. I’ve been thinking about it, and I wonder if I should have just, you know, kneeled there and stayed quiet.”
I let out a small laugh. “I think it turned out all right.”
“I mean, yeah, I agree with that. But it wasn’t exactly what you wanted. You brought me down there to show me something that’s important to you, and I ruined it by forcing you to play my game instead.”
“You can’t force me to do anything.” It’s not an answer, but I’m not sure what to offer her at this moment. Everything I thought I knew about myself is now up for debate. And my mind is reeling. I can barely hear myself think over the racket going on inside my skull.
“Consent goes both ways, you know,” she says flatly into the silence that hovers between us.
I turn and place both feet on the ground beside the chaise, bowing my head and clasping my hands together with arms resting on my thighs.
She’s right, of course.
Right in that my consent should be just as important as hers. The only problem is, it’s not just the change to the scene downstairs that’s got me worried. I didn’t consent to any of this. To these feelings. To this complete and utter lack of control.
I’ve never felt so wild, so free, and the feelings of impending doom that accompany those feelings scare the shit out of me.
If I'm not in complete control, if I’m not competent enough to be in charge of even myself—what does that mean for the life I’ve built for myself? What does it mean for my job? For my son?
I’ve always felt like the only thing keeping the entire world from going off the rails is my firm grasp on reality and the ability to make the difficult decisions necessary to keep things running smoothly.
But all of a sudden, in one little flash of release, a window opened into another perspective.
While it’s true that I’ve managed to keep a death grip on every single aspect of mine and my son’s lives over the years, has it really gotten me what I wanted?
