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An extremely unladylike snort escapes me. “Lila, I’m not having sex. A sex therapist is the last thing I need.”
Lila shakes her head. “She’s more of an intimacy specialist. There’s more to having sex than just the act itself.”
I raise one skeptical brow.
“Seriously, Charlie. Sex begins long before any clothes come off. Your mind is powerful. True intimacy begins in your mind, and most of it is about allowing yourself to be vulnerable." She pulls out her phone and starts typing, and my phone beeps with Lila’s message. “Her name is Willow. She's very easy to talk to. That’s her name and number. Just think about it.”
I’m frustrated when I get home after work, cooking dinner in silence as my mood darkens. It’s bad enough what those bastards did when they had me. Do they really get to ruin my future, too?
Depression weighs on me like a wet blanket. Maybe this is as recovered as I get to be. A basically functional adult, as long as (a) it’s daylight, (b) I’m armed, and (c) you ignore my panic at interacting with any man besides Mark, Tucker, or Tom.
I try to hide it, but I know the truth. I know what I am.
Broken.
Shattered, like a windshield after a car accident, spider-webbed into hundreds of shards. Fractured into splintered bits and pieces that can never be put back together again.
God, I hate being so fucked up.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
MARK
Something’s up with Charlie after work. I keep trying to strike up a conversation, but all I get are one-word answers. It continues all through dinner. I try to draw her out, but I’m getting nowhere.
After watching her pick at her food the entire meal, I can’t stand it any longer. “Are you going to tell me what’s bothering you, or are we going to keep pretending you’re fine?”
Charlie shakes her head. “Sorry, I’m just tired.”
“Bullshit. You’ve spent fifteen minutes pushing that same bite of chicken around.”
She shakes her head again. “I’m working through some stuff in my head. I'm sorry. I’ll be more present.”
I frown. “I’m not asking you to be more present. I’m asking what’s wrong. Maybe I can help.”
She looks up, and the sadness in her eyes startles me. “I’m not sure this is fixable.”
I wait patiently, but she just sits there, staring at her plate. I finally speak when it becomes clear she doesn’t intend to. “I can sit here all night, and I know where you sleep, so spit it out. What’s on your mind? ”
She looks at me uncertainly. “I’m not sure this is something I can discuss with you.”
Charlie and I talk about anything and everything, so I can’t imagine what could make her this uncomfortable. I try to lighten the mood.
“Is this about menstrual cycles? Because I know a surprising amount. It’s part of leading a platoon that includes women of childbearing age. I can even discuss feminine hygiene products. There's some you can launch like a rocket, and some that have wings like a jet.” I smile broadly and puff out my chest. “Not to brag, but I do have a working knowledge of these things.”
My teasing works, and she laughs. “No, it’s not about my cycle, but it’s delightful to know I can come to you with those issues.”
I smile. And wait. And wait some more.
She’s still not talking.
“You know, it’s easier to help when you actually share what’s bothering you.”
She bites her lip.
I gesture toward my room. “I have a drawer full of socks. We could turn them into puppets if it would help.”
“You just won't give up,” she mutters. “Alright, but when this gets awkward, remember, I tried to spare you.”
