The Truth About Unspeakable Things Emily Myers (love story books to read TXT) 📖

all the makeup, I see sunken skin and lips that yearn for another’s. I didn’t sleep last night. Once I got home, just after midnight, I sat in the shower as if the water would drown out Beaux’s presence. Even more so, I wanted it to drown out the memory of me screaming and writhing in invisible horror on Julian’s bed.

He was kind when I left. He did his best not to make me feel awkward or ashamed. But . . . there was something in the way he kissed me goodnight. It was so light and quick, I barely felt it. It’s as if he didn’t want to touch me for fear of triggering another episode. In all the beauty that was last night, that’s what I can’t get out of my head—our goodbye. And I can’t help but think, was it really goodbye?

“So, why do you look like you’re about to cry?” Kat asks me. I suddenly become aware of budding tears that threaten Kat’s handiwork.

“I’m not,” I say, tilting my head back to keep the tears from falling. “I just . . .”

Regaining my composure, I sit straight and allow Kat to finish my hair.

“I was nervous going into last night. I mean, you know. But once I got there, once I saw Julian, all my nerves went away,” I say with a smile. “He cooked the most delicious meal. There were candles everywhere and white roses,” I say, remembering back. “He even convinced the neighbors to let him plant a rose bush between his house and theirs. He said it was in honor of Mr. Turnip’s memory and a gesture for me to show me that he listens. And he truly does.”

Kat smiles as I recount the night. As do I.

“When we finally kissed,” I say. I squeeze the silky fabric of my robe as I relive the moment. “I didn’t want it to stop.”

Kat raises her brow and I find myself blushing.

“We . . . we almost—”

“Oh my God,” Kat squeals. She places the last bobby pin and scoots to sit beside me on the edge of the bed. She composes herself. “Okay, continue.”

My cheeks feel hot as I feel Julian’s hands on my body.

“I, um . . .” I stammer. “I wanted to have sex with him,” I admit. “And we were going to. We were in his bed. He was kissing me and touching me, and it felt so good, unlike anything I’ve ever felt before. But then I closed my eyes and Julian said . . .” I hesitate. “He said something that triggered me. And from that point on, all I could see was Beaux. All I could feel was Beaux,” I reveal.

“Oh my, Emma,” Kat says. She pulls me in for a hug, and I rest my head on her shoulder.

“And now, I’m . . .” My chest aches with revelation. “Now I’m not sure if he even wants to try anymore.” My insides burn as I hold in my tears. I’m tired of crying, even if it is over Julian.

“Emma,” Kat says. “I can assure you that is not the case.”

I pull away and move to my dresser in search of jewelry for the evening.

“I don’t know, Kat,” I mumble.

“I do,” Kat says. “What did I say when Julian sent you those roses?”

They sit next to my fireplace. Half of them are dead now, but I still keep them. I still see the beauty in them.

“You said, he really likes me.”

“Yes,” Kat says, moving toward me. “He really likes you and that doesn’t just go away.”

“Okay.” I nod. I want to believe her. It’s easier to than to think of the alternative.

“Now, close your eyes for the big reveal,” Kat says.

“What?”

“Just close them,” she says, moving toward the bathroom.

“Fine,” I huff. Kat always has been one for the dramatic.

I hear Kat leave the room, followed by the thud of heavy boxes hitting the floor.

“Shit,” Kat curses. I laugh.

As Kat approaches, I hear the rustle of fabric. It’s the dress! I hope she understands that this is a work thing and therefore, I should look understated and blend in rather than stand out. But then, perhaps, I chose the wrong person to borrow a dress from.

“Now, open!” Kat says.

My eyes grow in size and the air leaves my lungs as I am presented with the most gorgeous, glittering gold gown. Pounds of fabric fill out the ball gown skirt, creating a cinched in waist like no other. It has a semi-sweetheart neckline held up by thin spaghetti straps. The cut is simple, yet the thousands of glittering sparkles and jewels make the gown appear fit for a queen.

“It’s . . . it’s,” I struggle to find the right words. “It’s the most beautiful dress I’ve ever seen,” I finally say.

“I know,” Kat says. “It practically lights up the room, and so will you when you wear it tonight.”

My cheeks ache with how large my smile is. I can’t contain myself. But . . .

“Kat, it’s—it’s too much for a work event,” I finally say. “I’m . . . I’m a journalist, not a southern heiress.”

“I was thinking something more along the lines of a southern princess, but to each their own,” Kat says, tossing the dress on my bed.

It must weigh a ton!

“Regardless, you’re wearing it. You can thank me when you get back,” she says.

* * *

Kat was right. I look like a southern princess. Most of my makeup is covered by my masque, yet my eyes look more striking than ever. Oval shaped earnings encrusted with diamonds and pearls hang from my ears. My neck and wrists are adorned with complimentary pieces. I’ve never felt this beautiful.

Lights pour in through our front windows. Grey jumps from her spot on the couch in retreat. She must think someone is coming inside. She isn’t a fan of company.

“That must be your cab,” Kat says as she helps me into my shoes.

“Yeah,” I say. I’m instantly nauseous. Work doesn’t frighten me. I’m good at what I do. But this dress . . . I imagine it will attract a few wandering eyes, and the thought of people watching me, complimenting me,