Chapter 3

After I graduated and started working, I was plagued by constant migraines.

My mother took me to doctor after doctor, but none of them helped, until she finally pulled some strings and got me in to see Shawn.

I kept going back for treatment, and somewhere along the way, with our families nudging us together, neither of us saw a reason to refuse.

On our first date, we walked side by side down the street, and I spent the whole time hoping he'd casually reach for my hand.

He didn't.

He didn't check his phone, he didn't carry anything, and he didn't take my hand either.

I figured Shawn was just reserved by nature, and that I'd make the first move myself.

I reached for his fingertips, nervous, but the moment we touched, he pulled his hand back.

My mind went completely blank.

Did he hate me?

Realizing how he must have looked, Shawn gave me a gentle smile.

He told me he had touch starvation, that he didn't like touching other people, and liked being touched even less.

He'd charmed me into a daze so easily that I went and looked it up online, then asked him, "Isn't that condition supposed to make you crave physical contact? Why is it the opposite for you?"

He went still for a few seconds at that.

Then he stepped closer, pressed his fingertips gently to my temples, and never actually answered the question.

"To be precise, it's more of a mild condition. Nothing serious."

"What if I'm all over you every day, and I end up thinking about you at work instead?"

"Be good. Just let it be, for my sake, okay?"

I'd actually been happy about it back then, thinking that even someone as controlled as him would break his own rule for me.

Turns out I was the "other person" he never wanted touching him.

When I got home, I took his precious goose plush, cut it to pieces, and threw it out.

Shawn came home to a floor covered in stuffing and flew into a rage.

"Ashley! Have you lost your mind?! Do you have any idea what that is," Shawn started, before I cut him off.

"She bought it for you, didn't she? Shawn, if you just get rid of this toy, I'll pretend none of this ever happened."

"Ashley." He sighed, disappointment written all over his face. "You know I can't sleep without it. It's just a toy.

"I'll admit Cynthia gave it to me, but it doesn't mean anything else. Are you trying to kill me over this?"

I could've screamed.

If anyone was dying here, it was me.

"You think I don't know who you're thinking about when you're holding it?

"You called her your girlfriend in front of all those people. So what does that make me? Your side piece?"

Shawn went quiet for a moment.

"I'm sorry. Cynthia cares about appearances. If it bothers you, I can hold your hand in front of people too, from now on."

The sentence hit me harder than any migraine ever had.

For six years, all it took was "I have touch starvation," and he'd had me wrapped completely around his finger.

Turns out the thing I wanted so badly was something someone else got with barely a crook of a finger. And the only reason he was willing to give it to me at all was because "she gets it too, so it doesn't matter if you get it."

My voice shook.

"She cares about appearances, and I don't? Shawn, what exactly do you think I am to you?

"Doesn't that disgust you? Isn't it enough being Cynthia's dog? Now you want to train me like one too?"

I'd never once cursed at him before.

Shawn was furious.

But even facing me like this, he kept his composure.

"I thought you had a gentle temper. Turns out you're just as unreasonable as any other woman."

...Right.

That was how he always was with me.

None of the playful bickering other couples had. Just a carefully measured distance, kept exactly proper.

That was what he called mutual respect.

My chest churned with a sour ache, and I could barely breathe.

I steadied my voice.

"Shawn, let's end it here."

He sighed, not taking a single word of it to heart.

"Ashley, stop being difficult. You won't survive without me easing your migraines."

So he knew that too, that when my head really started pounding, I'd rather be dead.

Except my migraines had actually stopped two years ago.

I'd only kept claiming I still got headaches from time to time so he'd keep touching me, keep rubbing my temples.

All this time, I'd been nothing but a fool putting on a show.

I waved a hand.

"Think whatever you want. Just get out. I don't want to see you again."