The Woman at the Docks - Jessica Gadziala Page 0,71
will be easy."
"No. Not easy. But possible. It is possible. And that is what matters. You feel this way now. And you might feel this way for a while. But you won't feel this way forever. And I think you need to keep reminding yourself of that. Every wound hurts when it is fresh. You have to let it heal. You have to be an active part in that process, taking care of it, working toward recovery. And then, one day, it will be healed. And there will only be a small scar as a reminder."
"It doesn't seem like that is possible."
"Not right now, no. You have a massive hole carved into you right now, Romy. It's going to take a good long while to heal from that. Physically and mentally. But I'm here. We can work on this together."
"I can't ask that of you. You've already done so much."
"You're not asking. I am offering. And I am asking you to let me help."
"I don't even know what kind of help I need," I admitted.
"Well, when you figure that out, I can be that. Or I can help you find that. Nothing needs to be figured out tonight. There is time," he told me, curling me back onto my side, so he could look at my face. "Say you'll let me help you recover."
"I will let you help me recover," I told him, nodding. "But you can back out at any point if you want. It's not your job to fix me."
"Fix you, no. That's your work. But I can be there for you while you do that work."
I liked that.
I liked that he didn't act like some idiot, macho jerk, claiming he could make this whole situation right by brute force alone. I appreciated that he understood that this was complicated, multi-faceted, something that would take inner and outer work, something that would be challenging at the best of times, something that would take a lot out of me.
And that no one but me could go through that.
He was right, though.
He would be there.
It seemed too soon to admit aloud, but I needed him there. I needed his calm reassurance, his words of honesty, his encouragement, his warm chest, his deft fingers, his good nature.
I needed all those things.
More than I ever could have anticipated.
More than he could ever understand.
And there he was, offering to be anything and everything I needed him to be.
If that wasn't a good man, I didn't know what was.
No.
Not just a good man.
A great one.
A perfect one.
And for this one glorious point in time, he was all mine.
"One step at a time," I said to myself a few moments later.
"And I'll be right there with you," he agreed, lacing his fingers through mine.
Chapter Sixteen
Romy
Apparently, some of those 'small steps' included finally getting me out of the apartment after six days—and maybe only one actual wardrobe change—had him dragging me out of my depression sleep, bringing me into the bathroom, stripping me, and dropping me in the tub, then telling me we were going to Famiglia in two hours, before walking out before I could object to the plan.
I will admit something uncomfortable.
I'd gotten accustomed to my misery. It became comforting in a way. It created this wall around me that made it possible to turn down Luca's efforts to help me take those steps he talked about.
Like going and having dinner in the kitchen.
Like spending some time on the patio.
Like coming out and talking to Tina instead of hiding from her under the sheets I refused to let her clean.
It was easy to wallow.
Wallowing took no effort. It took no self-control, no fortitude.
You could just do it.
And people would let you because you were hurting, and it was important to give people the space they demanded.
Except, of course, for when those people around you decided they'd had enough, that you were being your own worst enemy.
Luca had probably been more patient than I would have been in his situation.
And for that, as I sat in the tub, I decided I owed it to him to play the part for this one night. To get clean, to put some effort into my appearance, to wear something other than his shirt, to eat something substantial, to try.
That was what it came down to.
Trying.
To do a little bit better.
For him, yes.
But also for myself.
I couldn't live in the bed—and in my head—forever.