Here’s the catch—Wendy doesn’t tell the truth because she sees herself as some kind of moral compass. It’s because she typically has no motive to lie. She just doesn’t give a fuck what people think about her truth.
“We talked about sex.”
I pause my ingredients-gathering and look at her. “Oh?”
“Yep. Nathan is…” She blushes a little.
“He’s what?”
“Kinda dirty.” Then she laughs out loud. It’s a nice laugh, too. Full-bodied and long.
I raise an eyebrow at her. “Nathan St. James was talking dirty to you?”
“No.” She laughs the word out. “No. Not me. He and Indie, man.” She shakes her head and lets out a sigh. Like she can’t believe she’s having this conversation. “They’re crazy.”
“Yeah,” I agree. Whatever they were all doing after I disappeared with Adam, this is all she’s gonna tell me. Because this is all that mattered to her. This dirty talk—specifically Indie and Nate’s relationship—was all she was concentrating on. I know there’s more to it than some weird dirty talk between Nate and Indie, but I don’t push. I don’t really care about Nate and Indie. Once we leave here there will be no more Nate and Indie. Neither of them will have any kind of influence over my Wendy.
So instead, I accept her answer and just cook. And we make small talk as we eat.
We clean up our mess and wash the dishes by hand. Normal stuff that we don’t usually have the time to enjoy and appreciate.
But we do appreciate it. Quiet, easy times like this are so elusive—so fleeting and quick—they feel special. Our shoulders bump as we work. Our smiles grow bigger and our words grow fewer. And by the time we’re done, there is an electricity between us.
A force of expectation.
A want, a need, a longing to be close.
Wendy takes my hand and leads me towards the back stairs. We creak every loose step, not caring who hears us. We walk down the hallway, filling up with expectations of what comes next. Then we climb the stairs to the third floor and by the time we get up there, we’re already taking off our clothes.
The cool conditioned air sweeps over Wendy’s bare breasts as I slide her bra down her arms, making her nipples become tight and bunched. She pushes her body up to mine, erasing the distance between us. Then she tips up her chin, looks me in the eyes, and touches her lips to mine. It’s so slow and careful, but not hesitant.
“Sweet,” she whispers. “Beautiful, perfect, and whole.”
I let out a breath, not wanting to hear these words right now because it’s a reminder of what I’m doing to her.
But she keeps going. “Everlasting, transcendent, exceptional, and extraordinary.” She kisses me between each word. Just a feather-light touch of her soft lips. “Remarkable, exquisite, priceless—” She pauses to smile here. Then she mouths the next word. No sound. Sublime.
I place the back of my fingers against her cheek, letting them fall as I continue the litany. “You are flawless, marvelous, divine, and sensational. You are heavenly, powerful, glorious, and delightful.” She waits for the rest.
But this is the part that gets me. Every single time. So it takes me a moment to get the words out.
She waits.
“You are lovely,” I say.
“You are majestic,” she says.
“You are gorgeous.”
She reaches up to place the back of her fingers against my cheek. And she’s the one who finishes. “I will never let you go, Nick Tate. No matter what, I won’t.”
I want her to snap out of it.
I want her to wake up.
I want her to realize what I’m doing.
I want her to call me on it.
I want her to object.
I want her to rail against my plans.
I want her to fight me. Scream at me. Hit me. Punish me. Hate me.
But she won’t.
Truth is something you seek. It’s not something that’s told to you.
Truth requires effort. Digging. Commitment.
Wendy Gale doesn’t want the truth. She prefers the lies. Because the lies keep her safe. The lies allow her to pretend everything is OK when it’s not.
She’s not weak for being this way. Everyone has this weakness. It’s built in to us. A protection mechanism. We like the lies—especially the lies we tell ourselves—because they feel good. They hold us close. They wrap us up in comfort and safety and we all have that in common.
We all want the same things, when you think about it.
And the lie is quick and easy. Comfort and safety come along for the ride when you’re lying to yourself. It’s a package deal.
But the truth is always long and complicated. It brings illumination. But when you turn on the lights, what do you see?
All the things you wish you hadn’t.
The truth is jarring, and earth-shattering, and life-altering.
And who the fuck wants that?
Me.
I do.
I want the truth. I want her to see the truth. I want everyone to know the truth.