The Truth About Unspeakable Things by Emily Myers (people reading books txt) 📗

beating heart. I allow him to hold me. I allow him to be my shield, my safe place. And I allow myself to imagine what my life would be like if I’d met him first.

After a while, my daydreams are interrupted as Julian pulls me to my feet and presses me against him. His eyes search mine for permission and I don’t resist him. We dance to no music at all. And for the first time, the silence isn’t deafening. It’s peaceful.

My tears dry and my vision clears. I look up and I’m finally able to see him. He wears worry well. Dark lashes shroud his bright eyes. A single strand of wavy black hair falls across his forehead. I move my hand from his shoulder to his face and caress his cheek. Sometimes I question if he’s even real. But flesh-to-flesh, the warmth of life burns between us.

He watches me as I move my hand from his cheek to his hair. I run my fingers through it and relish in its smooth texture. His jaw clenches as if to keep in a moan. A small smile spreads across my lips as I watch him yearn for mine.

Will he kiss me again? Do I want him to?

“So,” Julian breathes. “How was your day?” he asks.

I smile and move my hand from his hair to his waist. I allow him to rock me slowly.

My lips part in preparation for heavy explanation. Instead, I decide to claim the moment. The events of today and the past year don’t matter, not right now.

Finally, I say, “It’s better now.”

Julian takes my face in his, our lips only inches apart. “Mine too,” he reveals. And we continue our dance.

* * *

“Is this your plan? Fill me with alcohol and I’ll spill all my secrets?” I ask him. After Lucid, Julian insisted on walking me the rest of the way home, but we found ourselves at a wine bar instead.

“Well, you did let a few endearing things slip last night,” Julian says, sipping a glass of red.

“Well, clearly I wasn’t of sound mind,” I tell him, sipping my white. He laughs.

“Obviously,” he agrees. “But then, they do say there are no more honest people than children and drunks.”

I smile, wracking my brain for memories of last night. I remember him carrying me inside, but nothing else. What could I have said?

“You have no idea what you said, do you?” he asks me.

“Sorry,” I admit, setting my wine to the side.

Julian laughs. “It’s okay. But, um—”

“Wait! You’re not going to tell me?” I ask.

Julian pretends to think and finally says, “No. I think I’ll keep it my little secret.”

“Julian,” I whine.

“Emma,” he responds.

I smile and relax into the leather booth. This is what I like about Julian. Everything is so easy and fluid. He doesn’t pry and neither do I. Well, except for the mild cyberstalking I took part in last night.

“In all seriousness, though,” Julian says. “How was your day?”

I hesitate, taking another sip of my wine. Perhaps I thought too soon.

“I won’t judge, or critique, or even comment if you don’t want me to,” he continues. “But I think there’s something on your mind that you need to get out.”

Finally, I nod. “Try several somethings.”

Julian sets his wine to the side and leans in. “Start where you’re comfortable,” he tells me.

And I do. “My little sister is getting married. She’s twenty-two and he’s twenty-eight,” I tell him. Julian nods. “That’s why she and my mom came down today. My sister, Eva, wanted to go dress shopping,” I say. “Which should be fun, but—”

“But your little sister is getting married and I take it you don’t approve of her fiancé,” Julian says.

“I thought you weren’t going to say anything.”

“Oh, sorry,” he says. He makes the motion of locking his lips and throwing away the key. I smile.

“No, it’s okay. I was just joking, sort of,” I tell him. “But to answer your question, yeah,” I nod. “My little sister is getting married before me, and maybe I tell myself it’s her age and his that makes me concerned, but maybe it’s just . . . jealousy,” I finally admit. “I mean honestly, I’d like to be jealous, because if I’m jealous it means I believe they’re going to make it and that I want to make it with someone someday.”

“What do you mean make it?” Julian asks.

I bite the inside of my jaw, fully aware that this ramble won’t make any sense if I don’t tell him the truth. I grab my wine glass and finish it off. Though, after surviving Purple Death, I’m not sure alcohol will ever have the same effect or offer the same satisfaction.

“I, um, I haven’t had the best experience in relationships,” I reveal. “And not just romantic relationships. I . . . I never had a real friendship until I met Kat. And the second I saw a way out of Presley, Louisiana, I took it,” I say. “I got a scholarship to Tulane, because I knew I couldn’t count on my parents to pay for a school they didn’t want me going to. They’re like that, fully unaware of how to support something they didn’t choose themselves.”

The waiter brings me another glass and replenishes the cheese platter between us. Despite Julian’s lactose intolerance, he insisted we order it. So, I feel obligated to devour it. Not that I would’ve done differently had he been able to enjoy it too.

“Today was the first time I’ve seen my mom and sister in almost a year,” I admit. “Before my sister called to let me know she’s engaged, I’d only spoken to my parents twice in that time and my sister three,” I tell him.

“Wow,” Julian says. “Maybe that’s why the energy was so tense this morning.”

“No, that’s just my mom,” I assure him. I drop my eyes to my lap, playing thumb-war beneath the table. “Does it make me a terrible person?” I ask him.

“No,” Julian says without hesitation. “Relationships are a two-way street. They could have