Come Lie With Me - Linda Howard [39]
“Damn,” he said softly. “I’ve done it again, haven’t I? Every time I say something, I stick my foot in my mouth.”
She shrugged, trying not to let him know how thin her armor was. “It’s all right,” she murmured. “It was a long time ago. I was just a kid, too young to know what I was doing.”
“How old were you?”
“Eighteen. Scott—my ex-husband—was twenty-three, but neither of us was ready for marriage.”
“How long did it last?”
A harsh laugh tore from her throat. “Three months. Not a record-setting length of time, was it?”
“And since then? Haven’t you been in love with anyone else?”
“No, and I haven’t wanted to be. I’m content the way I am.” The conversation had gone on long enough; she didn’t want to reveal any more than she already had. How did he keep chipping away at the wall she’d built around her past? Most people never even realized it was there. She uncoiled her legs and crawled off the bed, tugging her nightgown down when it tried to crawl up to her hips.
Blake said a harsh expletive. “You’re running, Dee. Do you realize how long you’ve been here without receiving a single phone call or a letter, without even going shopping? You’ve sealed yourself in this house with me and shut the world out. Don’t you have any friends, any boyfriends on a string? What is it out there that you’re afraid of?”
“There’s nothing out there that frightens me,” she said quietly, and it was true. All of her terrors were locked within herself, frozen in time.
“I think everything out there frightens you,” he said, stretching out his arm and snapping on the bedside lamp. The soft glow drove away the shadows and illuminated her as she stood there in her white gown with her long, black hair streaming down her back. She looked medieval, locked away in a fortress of her own making. His blue eyes seared over her as he said softly, “You’re afraid of life, so you don’t let anything touch you. You need therapy as much as I do; my muscles won’t work, but you’re the one who doesn’t feel.”
Chapter Six
She didn’t sleep that night; she lay awake, feeling the seconds and minutes ticking away, becoming hours. He was right; she was afraid of life, because life had taught her that she would be punished if she asked for too much. She had learned not to ask for anything at all, thereby risking nothing. She had denied herself friends, family, even the basic comfort of her own home, all because she was afraid to risk being hurt again.
It wasn’t in her character to deny the truth, so she looked it in the face. Her mother wasn’t a typical example of motherhood; her husband hadn’t been a typical husband. Both of them had hurt her, but she shouldn’t shut everyone else out because of them. Serena had made an overture of friendship, but Dione had backed away from it, doubting the other woman’s motives. Those doubts were just an excuse for her own instinctive reaction to withdraw whenever anyone got too close to her. She had to take risks, or her life would be just a mockery, no matter how many patients she helped. She needed help just as much as Blake did.
But facing the truth and dealing with it were two very different things. Just the thought of lowering her defenses and letting anyone get close to her gave her a sick feeling. Even the little things were more than she had ever had, and more than she could handle. She’d never giggled with a girl friend far into the night, never gone to a party, never learned how to be with people in the normal manner. She’d had her back to the wall for her entire life, and self-protection was more than a habit: it was a part of her, branded into her cells.
Perhaps she was beyond changing; perhaps the bitter horror of her childhood had altered her psyche so drastically that she’d never be able to rise above the murky pit of her memories. For a moment she had a vision of her future, long and bleak and solitary, and a dry sob wrenched at her insides. But