Emily looks as surprised to see me as I am that she opened the door for me.
"Thank you," I tell her, pulling her close before she can even shut the door behind me. "I need to talk to you. I need you to hear me out."
She looks at me skeptically. But she let me in, and she's not immediately kicking me out. All good signs.
I shut the door and take her by the hand. I lead her over to her couch and luckily she follows me.
"I don't know where to start," I admit, smoothing her hair away from her eyes.
She's so fucking beautiful.
"Start at the beginning," she says. "Or, at the end of us, last time. I want to know why you were such a jerk."
"Fair enough," I tell her. "But this is hard to talk about."
She squeezes my hand, giving me the strength to continue. I'm so glad she's giving me the chance to explain myself, finally.
"When I was over there, the rescue helicopter we were in went down," I tell her. "It was so scary. Everyone thought we were going to die. I was injured a bit, but nothing major. Some in our unit died. Others were severely injured. One of my friends, Harlow, was significantly injured."
"When did this happen?" she asks, her eyes wide with shock. "Why didn't you tell me?"
"I… I don't know," I admit. "Even though I've had plenty of time to think about it. I don't have a good answer. I just went into shock. I didn't want to deal with it, process it."
She nods.
"I can understand that," she says.
"I was treated for my physical injuries but I didn't feel like I was getting any better. I had constant fear that I was going to die. I fell into a deep fucking depression. I thought life wasn't worth living. I began to question why you even wanted to be with me."
"Wow."
She strokes my hand, and looks genuinely concerned.
"PTSD?" she asks.
I nod my head.
"It makes perfect sense now, but back then, I didn't even know what it was," I tell her. "I'd heard of it— we'd even had some training on it— but it all seemed very theoretical. I didn't think it could actually happen to me."
"Perfectly understandable," she says.
Her eyes are so full of compassion that I’m wondering why I never told her until now. I suppose it made me feel too weak and vulnerable. But now I see that she could have helped me heal.
“Something in my fucked up mind told me that I wasn’t good enough for you. That I’d only drag you down. That I should be dead and that you should go on without me. I guess I just acted on those thoughts, even though they don’t make logical sense.”
“Nothing about PTSD is logical,” she says, reassuringly. “I’m no expert, but I’ve read about it for some of my classes. It’s an issue in social work. There’s nothing to be ashamed of.”
“I know,” I tell her. “The only thing I’m ashamed of is not telling you sooner. I tried to get you to talk to me when I came back but I understand why you wouldn’t. And I was still in a deep, dark place then, so it was probably for the best that we weren’t together at that time.”
I pause, realizing I just said, “at that time.” Meaning, that it’s for the best we’re together now.
“So how did you get better?” she asks.
“I had a lot of therapy. I can’t say much of it helped much, when I was still in the military. As I’m sure you’ve heard, the VA system is quite a mess. I was honorably discharged and only once I was in the private sector did I find some really good help.”
“I’m so glad you got help.”
“Me too,” I agree. “Some of it was from doctors and therapists while other help came from less traditional sources. Hypnotherapists. Natural healers. I read a lot about cognitive behavioral therapy and taught myself the tricks and tools. I even went to Native American reservation and spent time at sweat lodges and learning ancient healing practices.”
“That’s amazing that you were able to heal yourself,” she says.
Then, she looks up at me quizzically.
“Your company,” she says. “That’s what these apps are about, right? I read some of the emails. A lot of people have been really helped by them.”
“I worked with the nation’s top doctors and alternative healers to make these apps,” I tell her. “I wanted to help others the way I had been helped. I have apps for PTSD, and for all kinds of other things too.”
“I know,” she says, beaming proudly. “I read the emails. And I think it’s amazing. It could even help the foundation I’m starting as part of my social work program. There are a lot of mental health issues that keep people from achieving their full potential.”
“I’d love to help you with that,” I say. “But, you know, I’m a big bad billionaire who is too selfish and greedy with my money…”
She laughs and swats at my shoulder playfully.
“Oh stop it,” she says. “I know I was being dumb. I get it now. I get what you’re doing.”
“It’s fine,” I tell her, with a wink. Then my tone turns serious. “I know what your family went through, when your dad was defrauded like that. I understand your distrust of rich people. I should have explained earlier, but I haven’t really had a chance.”
“You should have explained a lot of things earlier…”
She trails off, looking at me, waiting for me to continue.
“That’s true.”
I sigh. It all comes down to this. Will she accept me as I am… a flawed man who managed to mostly heal himself? A father who has made bad decisions but is still glad about the outcome?
“When I came back and you didn’t want to talk to me, I did a lot of stupid things,” I admit. “One of them was having random, drunk sex with a girl I had just met.”
She recoils a bit, but doesn’t say anything for a minute.
“So that’s how you lost your virginity?” she asks.
“Yeah. Not my best move.”
She chuckles.
“Well, I figured you would have lost it before I did,” she says. “I just didn’t know it would be…”
“Like that?” I finish for her, as she trails off again.
“Yeah.”
She half chuckles again, half sighs.
“Me neither. It was a foolish decision. I tried to wear a condom but I was so shit faced I’m sure I probably put it on wrong or something. I couldn’t even believe it afterwards, and I certainly couldn’t believe it when she told me she was pregnant. She and I never even tried to have an actual relationship after that; we both knew it was just a one night stand and nothing further. We have a pretty good co-parenting relationship, which is as much as I could ask for out of this situation so I’m grateful. But it was not the most ideal way to have sex for the first time. I certainly wish it had been with you. Except then…”
Now it’s my turn to trail off.
“Then, you wouldn’t have had your daughter,” she guesses.
“Right.”
“My daughter is the best thing that ever happened to me,” I tell her. “And you’re in a very close second place.”
She shakes her head while partly rolling her eyes, but I stop her.
“Seriously,” I tell her. “I haven’t known love other than with you. But I could never be here today telling you about all of this if I didn’t have my daughter. She saved my life. I wanted to be a strong man for her. And, since I’m telling you everything, part of me always hoped we’d get back together.”
“Oh yeah?”
She raises her eyebrows at me.
“I know, I know,” I tell her. “Then why did I wait for our chance meeting instead of making it happen?”
She nods.
“Because I was a pussy,” I confess. “I kept telling myself you’d never forgive me. You’d never understand about my daughter. I thought for sure you’d moved on, found a good guy, gotten married. But I stalked your Facebook, and didn’t see any traces of a guy. So I had hope in the back of my mind that somehow I’d get my act together and get you back. Now that I had the opportunity, I wasn’t going to let you walk away again. I had to come tell you how I feel.”
She laughs.
“You stalked my Facebook?”
“Guilty.”
“I can’t say I didn’t try the same with you,” she says, blushing.
“But I don’t have a public Facebook page,” I tell her. “I just go by a pseudonym so I can stalk other people. I’m not sure I believe in social media.”
“Well, you sure made it a lot harder to find anything out about you,” she says, smiling.
I pull her into my lap and start kissing her.
“That’s because I needed to tell you all about it myself. Because I still love you. I always have.”
She kisses me back, with ferocious intensity, and then she says the four words I’m dying to hear:
“I still love you too.”