Chapter 11
Chapter eleven
Tytus
The room is dark. The pain is real.
Every breath inspires burning sensations throughout my chest.
There are five bandaged incisions from what I can tell. Those aren’t even the spots that hurt the most. I’m heavily medicated, and despite not wanting to fucking be in the hospital, at least I’m not alone.
She’s here. Refusing to leave my side.
A storm of emotions needles at my consciousness when the pain meds wane enough that I can sort through my thoughts.
Is she here because she wants to be?
Where do things stand between us?
Was she involved in what that asshole did to me? Her other… whatever she considers them. Those men. Did she ask them to do that? Did she think she needed saving from me?
Clarity eludes me.
I want to talk to her. To really talk and to listen to what she has to say.
To tell her I’m sorry for how I’ve handled things. To apologize for holding back for all those years. To grovel and beg for her forgiveness for overcorrecting and being so fucking intense over the last several weeks.
I want her to stay.
I want her to want me still, even if it’s not a fair or reciprocated wish.
But I have no idea where her head’s at.
Exhaustion rolls over me like a late summer storm, the darkness layering across my vision as lethargy tugs at the edges of my consciousness. But I fight it, muscles tensing, willing myself to stay awake.
We have so much to work out, but one thing I know for sure: I’m done taking from her.
I’m done hurting her, knowingly or unknowingly.
Whatever she wants, whatever she needs, or doesn’t need, from me, I’ll deliver.
Something inside me snapped last night.
I sure as fuck didn’t enjoy being shoved into a small space and panicking, then blacking out.
But that experience yanked me out of the state I’ve been in for weeks.
Now that it’s over, the push and the pull and the pain stop here.
They have to. I have to stop hurting her.
I can no longer do anything that isn’t a clear, direct, specific request from the girl lying in my arms.
Last night, there was this moment of lightness.
Behind my closed eyelids, colors and vibrancy called to me in a way that has never happened during a blackout.
I wanted to go toward that light.
Not because I thought it was the end. But because I knew, deep down, that it was my only hope. I fought so fucking hard to follow it, to seek it out.
It was her.
She was there.
I don’t know what she wants. I’m scared to ask. Terrified that the answer is not me. That it’s them. That she’ll leave.
Regardless, I want Sawyer to know peace. To be loved. To never cry another fucking tear over the likes of me.
I want her to choose me more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my life.
My own desires aside, I want to do right by her. I will honor her choice.
I won’t be okay if it’s not me, but I won’t interfere or try to dissuade her. The disappointment will be my burden to bear.
Because she deserves the world. She deserves to get exactly what she wants in this life, even if what she wants isn’t me.
I’m equal parts scared and eager to talk. To listen. To find out what she wants and to discover the path of my fate.
For now, I’ll hold her a little closer. Savor these moments when she’s here of her own volition. Relish the memory of her telling Atty to send the others away. Enjoy the feel of her, even if she’s not quite in my arms, given my injuries and the awkward positioning of this narrow hospital bed.
She might not choose me in the end.
But she’s choosing me right now.
It’s not enough. Nothing will ever be enough when it comes to her. But if this is all I get, I’ll hold on tight for as long as she’ll let me.