22. THE WRONG VERSION OF US
THE WRONG VERSION OF US
It’s been a month and a half since our weekend getaway to Maine, and it’s been back to reality in the most terrible way possible.
Kenneth’s mom is somehow deteriorating even quicker than last month, and I didn’t think that was possible.
Her doctors don’t think she’ll make it past this week.
It’s been a big pill to swallow for Ken, understandably so, and he’s having a really hard time letting me be here for him.
He’s constantly pushing me away, and every time I try to comfort him, he lashes out.
I know I should leave him alone, that I shouldn’t push, but I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I didn’t make it abundantly clear that I’m here for him.
That I got him. That he can fall apart, and I’ll hold his pieces in my hands until he’s ready to be put back together.
Kenneth is burying himself under mountains of work.
He’s been overbooking himself with studio sessions for engagements and couples’ portraits, refusing to have any free time.
I know he’s doing it so he doesn’t have to think about what’s happening, but he shouldn’t be doing this.
He should be with his mom, cherishing her last moments.
I can’t tell him how to act or how to handle his grief, but it hurts because I know he’ll eventually regret not being there.
I can’t in good conscience let him. I just need to find a way to tell him that.
The last few days at work have been busy with meetings and projects, and today has been the first day I’ve been able to have downtime with him since the weekend.
Even then, he was too busy for me, editing pictures from sunrise to sundown.
I’m hoping now we can have a conversation, but it doesn’t seem to be what he wants to do, as he completely ignores my existence.
It hurts, but I tell myself he’s hurting worse than me at the moment, and he doesn’t mean it.
I remember acting similarly when my father was dying and after he passed.
Now I need to be willing to shoulder the brunt of his grief with him.
Isn’t that what relationships are about, anyway?
Being there for each other? I can be whatever he needs me to be right now.
I just need him to acknowledge me. I need him to lean on me.
Kenneth shifts on the sofa next to me, and I move closer, turning my body toward him.
He doesn’t look up from his laptop at all; instead, he makes a point of not giving me any of his attention.
I huff in frustration, and his nostrils flare like he’s the one who’s pissed at me.
Taking a deep breath in, I ignore how tense we both are and try to relax my body.
My shoulders drop first as I inhale again, and then I clasp my hands together on my lap.
“Baby?” I ask softly, and Ken hums without looking at me. “Can we talk?”
Kenneth’s shoulders rise all the way up to his ears, a clear display of the tension between us.
His brow furrows, but this time he looks at me with a frown on his face.
His eyes are still the most beautiful I’ve ever seen, but they’re obscured now by deep purple shadows underneath them.
I wish I could take it all away—the stress, the hurt, the impending grief.
But I can’t do that. Now I just need to show him I’ll be here through all of it.
“What is it?” Kenneth sighs, and I wince. He looks so disgruntled, and I haven’t even said anything yet. I’m scared he’s going to drive us apart. That this is the end of us. Is this really how we plummet into the abyss with no safety net?
“Um—” I clear my throat. “I’ve missed you.” His shoulders drop, and he seems to relax slightly, so I continue. “We haven’t seen each other much the past few days—”
“Con, we live together. You’ve seen me every day. You sleep next to me every night.”
I frown now, too. “Yet you feel so far away, baby,” I whisper. “I just want to spend some time with you.”
“I’m busy,” he says dismissively.
“I see that,” I acknowledge. “Can you at least tell me how you’re really doing?”
Kenneth flinches, then tenses. “I’m fine, Conrad.
” His voice is cold and emotionless as he delivers those words, and I shake my head slowly.
“I’m fucking great. My mom is dying, and my life is falling apart, but I’m doing amazing.
” His sarcasm makes my eyes widen, but he continues.
“Fucking peachy. In fact, I’m doing so good, I might as well throw it all away, right? Just ruin everything for myself.”
“Do you want me to take you to see her?” I ask him, realizing my mistake right away. That was definitely the wrong thing to say.
“I don’t want to talk about this,” he snaps.
“You can lean on me, Kenny,” I say quickly, trying to get him to listen to me, but he just laughs harshly. It sends a shiver down my spine. “I’m here for you. I—”
“Can you just fucking drop it?” Kenneth snarls, and it shakes me to my core. He has never treated me this way, and part of me is over it, but I keep telling myself it’s his grief talking. “I don’t need you. I never have, and I never fucking will.”
I flinch hard, my neck hurting from the movement. My eyes narrow, and I’m barely able to contain my anger when a look of contempt crosses his face. Why is he trying so fucking hard to push me away?
“You’re terrified of being happy,” I spit. “Kenny, just—”
“Fuck off, Conrad,” he yells, and I flinch again. “I’ve told you to drop it. I’ve told you I don’t want to talk about it. I don’t need you to make it better!”
“It’s okay to need someone, Ken,” I plead. “We’re supposed to lean on each other. You’re my forever, Kenny. I want you to lean on me. I—”
“You’re not forever, Conrad,” Kenneth says calmly, his features going blank and cold. “We aren’t. I think it’s time we both faced it.”
Shaking my head rapidly, the first thing that comes to mind is denial.
I want to fight—for him, for us. I also just want to fucking scream at him to open his damn eyes and see me standing right here for him.
See me trying to be here for him. Trying to hold him through the hurricane that’s trying to tear him apart.
But it seems like he’s determined to tear us apart, too.
Just when I thought life couldn’t get better, this happens.
Now it’s all in shambles, and I don’t think we’ll recover from it.
I stand from the couch and walk quickly to get away from him, but right before I can turn the corner into the lobby of his studio, I look back at him over my shoulder.
He’s staring after me with a clenched jaw, his eyes red-rimmed, cheeks flushed, lips tight.
Kenneth’s nostrils flare as I shake my head again, and right before I turn around and leave him behind, I deliver my final words.
“I won’t let you treat me like shit, Kenneth,” I say coldly, and this time, he’s the one who flinches. “I’m getting my things and leaving. I have a work trip, remember? Maybe I won’t come back to the apartment when I’m done.”
Ken scoffs, shaking his head, “So that’s it?”
“You tell me,” I growl. “You said you wanted to throw it all away. Ruin everything for yourself. Well, congratulations, Kenneth. You fucking did it.”
I don’t wait to hear what he has to say.
Instead, I walk out of his studio into the busy streets of the Seaport District.
The cold December air threatens to freeze me to my core, but the anger burning through me prevents it from happening.
I don’t think I’ve ever been this pissed or this hurt, and I won’t let myself think it’s all in my head.
I won’t gaslight myself into thinking it was my fault.
No, this was all Kenneth. And he needs to own up to it.
When I make it to his apartment—ours now—I inhale a shaky breath and go to the bedroom to grab my luggage and backpack, then sling the latter over my shoulders.
My legs carry me from one end of the room to the other as I pace, trying to calm myself down as much as possible, but I can’t.
I don’t have it in me to feel hurt quite yet.
Instead, I’m angry. I’m fucking pissed that he’s willing to throw us away without a care in the world.
That I mean so fucking little to him that he won’t even—
The sound of the front door slamming shut snaps me out of my downward spiral, though it doesn’t feel like this reality is any better.
I’m standing in the middle of the room, facing the door, when Kenneth strolls in, chest heaving.
He looks like he ran a damn marathon, and there’s a wild look in his eyes when they connect with mine.
I take a step back when he steps forward, trying to keep some distance between us, and he seems to get the hint because he stops in his tracks and stares at me.
“Drop it,” Kenneth growls. “Take the backpack off.”
“No.” I shake my head, raising my chin.
“So, what? You’re just going to leave me?” His voice cracks, and the emotion threatens to unravel me. But then anger rises within me again, making my chest tight.
“Isn’t that what you wanted, Kenneth?” I ask through gritted teeth. “You wanted to ruin everything, right? You wanted me gone? For me to know I’m not forever? Don’t worry, I’m done being delusional.” I walk past him quickly, reaching the door, when he lets out a loud sob.
“S-stop,” Ken whispers. “D-don’t leave m-me.”
I turn around abruptly, spinning on my heel and dropping the backpack to the ground. Kenneth stands with wide, hopeful eyes, staring right at me. His arms hang limply at his sides, and his shoulders are sagging forward. He’s making himself look so damn small. So damn defeated.
My eyes sting as I stare at him, but I don’t make a move. “Give me one good reason to stay.”
“I didn’t mean it!” he sobs again, his voice cracking. “I’m just scared to fuck everything up. I’m scared and hurting, and I didn’t mean any of it. Please don’t go. P-please!”
My stomach drops, but I force myself to nod. “Tell me more.”