I'd always known there was something odd inherent in talking about these parts of myself as if they were disembodied people whose voices I happened to hear, but it helped me isolate the origins of all my conflicted emotions. It helped me to see the perfectionist as a kid who desperately needed something in her life to be safe and the savage as an angsty, rage-filled teenager who refused to be misunderstood. It helped to cleave all those feelings into two parts and hear them separately.
For all the years I'd lived with that knowledge, I'd never once felt the singular glow of someone choosing the messiest, most volatile part of me as the one worth treasuring. The good girl got all the attention. She asked for nothing and did everything, making her so damn easy to love. But that love was shallow. It was ankle-deep love, the kind that drifted in and out with the tides. It took from me more than it gave. It didn't matter and it didn't last.
Not that this was love. This was…a cease-fire. A reprieve. A moment where we didn't capitalize on every opportunity to torment each other.
This was not about love. Not even close.
"You're right. I don't think I should let my savage bitch out that often," I replied, dipping my spoon into the yogurt. "I can't live every day like it's bubble suit jousting day."
"We should do that again," he mused. "Maybe I'll win the next time around."
"Don't get your hopes up."
He dragged his gaze over me, slow and scowly. "Too bad. Already have."
It was the comfortable, pleasant kind of humid here on the island, the sun was high and bright without being too intense. The ocean was close enough to provide a light, hammock-nap kind of soundtrack and soft, pale sand was only a few steps away from the patio outside my bungalow.
For once, Sebastian had not a single complaint about the weather.
That did not mean he was free of all complaints.
I pushed my sunglasses to the top of my head and glanced over at him. He had the end of a highlighter between his teeth as he frowned at an article in the Journal of Emergency Medicine. It was the type of frown that could mean he disagreed vehemently or he was head over heels for the content. Anyone's guess.
"I'm getting a drink," I said as I crossed the patio into the bungalow. "Do you want anything?"
With a parting grimace for the journal, he asked, "What does that mean in your world? The only thing I've ever seen you drink is weak tea and water."
"I can drink mellow white wines and beers that aren't too sour or hoppy, but I usually pass unless I'm feeling really good." I leaned against the door. "I asked the resort to stock the fridge, so I'm sure there's something for you in there."
"I never would've thought to ask for that," he murmured.
"Yeah, if there's one thing I've learned from my mother, it's how to travel comfortably." I hooked a thumb toward the bungalow. "Can I grab something for you?"
"Unless it's croutons and crystalized ginger, I'm good with whatever you're having."
Inside, I poured myself a glass of water and selected a beer from the assortment in the fridge. I was about to return to the patio when I spotted a paperback book on the table near the entrance. It didn't look like any of the other books tucked into the shelves around the bungalow and it was just sitting there on the edge of the table as if someone had forgotten about it.
With the book tucked under my arm, I walked out to the patio. "Is this yours?" I asked, holding it up.
Sebastian accepted the beer bottle, saying, "Oh. Yeah."
I glanced at the cover. "You're reading The Chronicles of Narnia? The allegorical fantasy series written for small children?"
He held up a hand. "I can explain."
"I cannot wait to hear this." I settled into the lounge chair beside him. "Please. Don't leave me in suspense."
He ran a hand through his hair, sighing like a highly inconvenienced teenager. "I found a copy of The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe in the ER one night. It was during the time when every day was hell and it just didn't get better. When I didn't leave the hospital for days. The world was terrifying and it wasn't like I could sleep, so I read a book."
"And you're still reading it?"
"No. I mean, obviously, yes, but I don't like it. I have so many problems with this story. I don't even know where to start with my problems."
I murmured in agreement. "Yeah, that does seem to be a theme with you."
"You're lucky you're so cute," he said with a sidelong grin. "I read the first book and I had to see how it turned out, so I read the other six."
"That is a serious commitment for a story you don't like."
"There's a lot I don't like, but there was a thread running through all the books that just—I don't know. There's something that stuck with me."
"I want to hear about the sticky part."
He flipped through the pages for a minute. "It's about these kids who walked through the back of a closet into a new world. They had no idea what was waiting for them on the other side. Nothing could've prepared them. They're thrown into it. They have to take sides and fight wars—and then they have to go home. They climb out of the closet and go back to their old lives as if nothing had happened. As if they'd been playing in the backyard all that time. They couldn't tell anyone where they'd been or what they'd seen. They couldn't talk about the losses they'd experienced or the ways the war changed everything about them. They had to stare out at the world through eyes that had witnessed all these things and—and act like they were the same kids who'd gone into that closet."
I wrapped both hands around my glass. That hit close to home. "Whoa."
He bobbed his head. "Like I said, there was a lot of material I didn't enjoy, but there was an artery of truth in there. The subtle part about living through a war and coming out of it changed, yet not having anywhere to put all of that change, hooked me hard. I started going back to the books just to press that artery again. I guess that's the choice, right? Cut the oxygen to my brain or keep wondering if I'm crazy."
I didn't have the words to make any of this right. Instead of trying to do that, I set my glass aside, plucked the book and the abandoned journal from him, and tucked myself in beside him on the lounge chair.
"You get it," he murmured, his hand on the back of my head.
I nodded against his chest. "I do."
He was quiet for a minute, then he brushed his lips over my hair. "Thanks."
Chapter 26
Sebastian
From the bed that I was still hoping she'd return to, I watched as Sara buzzed around the bungalow. She wore a fluffy white bathrobe that brushed the floor because she was a little teapot and she had her hair twisted up in a hot pink microfiber towel that she'd brought with her from home.
It was a luxury to watch her prepare for the day. I would've forked over every cent to my name just for the privilege of watching her apply moisturizer to her entire body one more time.
When she switched on the hair dryer, I resigned myself to the fact she wasn't coming back to bed. I wandered around the bungalow in my boxers and read the headlines on my phone while I made myself some coffee and heated water for her tea.