She held his hand tightly, her inner voices at war.... her face staying as light and neutral as she could keep it. Maybe he wouldn't notice.
She had said she wanted honesty from him. She had declared that she was indeed honest. But she knew she wasn't. She always marveled at how stupid men were to take her word for it.
Who would want her now, really?
She wanted to be honest, she really did. But there was no way she could. It wasn't so much to trick him with cruel intentions... but to protect him from knowledge she knew he wouldn't want. Knowledge of her.
Men had put her on a pedestal, before. She wished she could enjoy the princess treatment- really, what girl wouldn't? But she couldn't put on the act long enough to maintain that lofty perch, and she couldn't respect a man dumb enough to put her there.
She knew what she really was. She knew of the drugs she did, the drinking. She remembered more of the drinking than she really wanted to, because ugly words she had slashed people with still echoed in her ears. Often, she wasn't drunk at all, when she smashed faces with her words.
She knew what she really was.
Things she had accused of others.
Slut.
Whore.
Liar.
Thankfully, most people around her didn't know any better. Thankfully, he didn't know any better. But it made her feel certain doom, every time she tried to love a man. She didn't mind the things of his past, and really didn't want to know, except her morbid curiosity kept her asking and listening. It made her feel better, that she didn't have to feel so bad about the things she had done, the things that made her feel so deeply stained.
But her torment lied in the conflict of not being able to tell him. She was undesirable, and had to keep quiet so he wouldn't know. He was trying to like her, trying to be nice, and she just couldn't ruin that for him. She was grateful for the clean slate of knowing someone new, but she could never have a clean slate for her, for her own heart, could she? She wondered if she could take her secrets to the grave, or if they would take her there instead.
Her deeds couldn't be undone. The immovable truths underneath her illusions.
She wondered sometimes, if there was a God. What he might say of her.
She wondered if he would understand, if he existed.
If he cared.
She wondered, of the man whose hand she held now...
Why didn't he ask of her past? Why was he so patient with her? Looking into his eyes was disconcerting, because they were knowing. He wasn't fool enough to expect any purity, yet he was kind enough not to ask. He spoke healing to her sometimes. He encouraged her and made her laugh.
and it dawned on her.
He wasn't asking for her purity. He wasn't asking for her honesty, or her confession.
He was merciful.
He was just loving her.
He was only asking for her to love herself too
it was absurd, the idea. Her scorn tried to scoff at him, at the idea
but oh
it was tempting
to feel ok again
to feel acceptable
lovable
valuable
she was still so tentative
it terrified her
she still felt so damaged
but it was by his choice, foolish or wise
to see of her
to ask of her
the good
