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Ali shook her head as the awful memory of Cornell’s desire for her disappearing into nothingness crept into her mind.
Linda tilted her head. “You know, you said something interesting before. You said when the two of you met, you needed him at that moment. How were you feeling at that time?”
Ali thought back to that night, remembering how the ball that formed in the back of her throat hardly allowed her to swallow when Tara finally let it slip that Matt was at the other end of the bar.
“Vulnerable.”
“So, something about Cornell back in that moment made you feel safe?”
She remembered Cornell’s arm, the shading of the tattoos she only would allow herself to explore later, the ones that let her know the depths of his thoughtfulness, the playfulness of his mind, the limitlessness of his heart.
Shrugging, Ali played with the edge of Cornell’s sweatshirt. “I guess so.”
“What was it about him, Ali?”
It wasn’t the size of Cornell, the intrigue of his handsome face, the tiny freckle beneath his eye that Ali needed. She took a deep breath as she recalled the look on his face—the slight mixture of curiosity and confusion by her closeness, but more importantly, the two dark windows that let Ali know that even though at the moment he was a stranger, he was kind.
“It was his eyes.”
“What kind of eyes does Cornell have, Ali?”
Warm. Deep. Caring. Trusting.
“Loving,” Ali professed.
There was a minute of silence before Linda spoke. “I think it’s an important part of recovery to understand that you aren’t alone. You aren’t the first person this has happened to. You won’t be the last. But I’ll tell you something, Ali. You also aren’t the first survivor who has thought they could do it alone.” Linda smiled softly. “It’s a heavy load to bear alone, no matter how strong you are.”
Ali nodded in agreement because she could feel just how exhausted, how weighed down her body was.
“Has Cornell indicated in any way he might think it was your fault?”
“No. Of course not.”
“And you trust him?”
Ali let out a shaky breath. “With my life.”
“So the man you are in a relationship with—the guy you live with and want to marry and have a family with—is someone you instinctively relied on when you felt vulnerable without even knowing him.” Linda leaned forward. “It’s no secret we usually push the ones we love the most away. But why do you think you are doing that to him?”
Shrugging, Ali shook her head. “I don’t know.” The possibilities were endless. It’s disgusting. I’m ashamed. I was so afraid of what he would think about me.
“Look, only you can decide when the time is right to talk about what happened and with whom. But you said earlier you wanted to tell him, but you can’t. What’s stopping you?”
“I don’t know,” she told Linda again. “That’s why I’m here.”
Linda sighed. “Survivors like to play their cards close to their chests. That’s normal. Do you know why?”
“I mean, it’s embarrassing, for one.”
“That’s part of it, sure. Embarrassment and shame. Guilt. But sometimes, those things aren’t just about how they feel about themselves. They’re about other people.” Linda reached over to the end table and grabbed the box of Kleenex, offering it to Ali.
She took it and placed it in her lap. Looking down at the cardboard box, a drop hit a tissue sticking out from the opening—she hadn’t realized she had already been crying.
“I wanted to protect him,” Ali whispered before she pulled a tissue free, bringing it to her eyes. I’d rather hurt alone than hurt Cornell because I love him that much.
“Don’t you think you deserve to be a little bit selfish right now?”
Ali pulled another tissue free. “I didn’t want to hurt him. That’s what happened this morning.”
