ANNA
I’m not an asshole, I think to myself as I lie on the floor next to him.
That’s the only reason why I’m still here. I couldn’t just leave him. It’s obvious he’s not okay. You don’t just randomly get dizzy to the point you need to lie down.
He’s breathing and exhaling deeply, and from the corner of my eye, I see his chest rise and fall, rhythmically and on beat as if it’s something he’s practiced. His eyes are lasered on the ceiling, and every few seconds he blinks.
“I know it’s been a while,” I begin, darting my attention to where he is focused. “But you can talk to me. If you don’t feel comfortable or don’t trust me, I—”
“Anna, you could ask for my social security number and I’d give it to you.”
“I know it, remember?”
It’s like our brains are linked together because in sync we turn to look at each other. I’m certain the memory is playing in his head like it is in mine.
Sylas was helping me pack my things to leave for France when I made a comment about my social security number.
He then admitted he didn’t know his, so we agreed I’d help him memorize it.
In English, Spanish, Portuguese, and French, we practiced.
He was trying to teach me how to speak Portuguese and I really needed to learn French.
It was just one of the many things we learned to do together.
And then I had to learn to be by myself again until Rosie was born.
“I feel a lot of things, but being uncomfortable isn’t one of them. And I trust you more than I do anyone.” His eyes trap me in a trance, and the vulnerability in his voice anchors my being, making it hard for me to look away or break myself free.
“Do you want to talk about it?” I ask him, tapping my index finger on the wooden floor.
“You’re going to be disappointed in me.” His lips twist, gaze dropping as if he were ashamed.
“You shouldn’t care what I think,” I assure him.
He stares up at me, and a dry laugh expels from his mouth. “Your opinion has always been the most important to me. I care a lot about what you think of me.”
My brows knit. “You shouldn’t.”
“Slip into my brain and rewire it because until that happens, I’ll always care.”
My heart gives a tremor at his earnestness, and I hate that his confession makes me smile a little. “What have you done that’s going to disappoint me?”
I realize I shouldn’t have asked that because what if he admits he’s been sleeping around. He’s single and can do whatever he wants, but I’m actually not ready to hear him tell me.
He disrupts my train of thought when he speaks. “I’ve been smoking again.”
Oh.
“I know how much you hate it,” he continues, color rising in his cheeks. “But it helped since the…” He falters, lips part then close and part again. “Medication didn’t.”
“Medication?”
That had to have started after he broke up with me because he wasn’t taking anything when we were together.
His eyes dart around, unfocused. “Uh, after the injury, I had, um…bad panic attacks, and when they stopped, the anxiety didn’t.
So…” He swallows hard, and his gaze land on my face.
I lay my hand over his, slipping my fingers between his clammy ones.
He stares at where they’re linked, and his voice is not as on edge as before.
“I went to the doctor and got diagnosed and medicated, but it didn’t help.
Cigarettes are the only thing that do. I’m sorry, I know this is really fucking pathetic.
I didn’t want to tell you, but I don’t want to lie to you. ”
“Sylas,” I start but stop, unsure whether to hug him or let go of his hand. But I do neither. I rub the pad of my thumb over his hand. “That’s not pathetic. Don’t invalidate how you feel. I really hate that you’ve been feeling that way, that—”
“You’re not upset?”
The apprehension in his voice makes my heart crack.
I knew he’d been struggling, but he never opened up to me about.
It was as if he was embarrassed because he’d quickly brush it off if I ever asked.
Or if the sports analysts made so much as a comment about his mental health, he or his father would say they didn’t know what they were talking about.
“No, I’m not upset.” I clutch his hand hard. “I’m only upset that that happened to you, that you’re feeling this way.”
“I know how much you hate cigarettes.”
“I hate them because they’re not good for your health. But I hate it even more that you think it’s pathetic.”
“I’ve never felt this way.”
“Or did you pretend it was never there?”
His brow furrows, and he’s staring at me, confused by my statement. “I didn’t.”
“Sylas…” I tread carefully, not wanting to upset him. “You were always on edge before we’d see your dad. Or when we were around him, you’d—”
“Are you insinuating he’s the reason I’m like this?”
“Well…I—” I sigh at how defensive he sounds. It wasn’t my intention. “It’s not normal for—”
He draws his hand back to rest on his stomach. “It has nothing to do with him. The injury really fucked me up.”
I sit up, not wanting him to notice how his sudden distance hurts me. I feel him growing detached, like he did when he broke up with me.
He mirrors my position and brings his knees up, wrapping his arms around them.
Regret washes across his face, I think. “The trade, the move, finding out I’m a father, my parents keeping this from me—it’s been a lot.
But I’m okay. I’m serious. I just haven’t really processed everything, but I will because I want us to be okay. ”
I want us to be okay. He’d always say this when I knew he was withdrawing mentally.
It was his way of saying let me figure this out alone, and he’d keep me at arm’s length. I’d still make myself present, available to be there for him no matter what.
But the thing about then and now is that we’re not together and we’re not twenty-one.
We’re parents with responsibilities. I can’t force myself to stay if he’s not willing to let me in. He didn’t then and I know he’s not now.
It hurts, but the pain will be worse if I try to hold on to something that isn’t there anymore.
“I need to head off.” I go to stand, but he sits up on his knees and grabs my wrist.
“Anna, I fucking miss you.” Anguish mars his face, and his voice is heavy with longing.
“Don’t say that to me.” I let out a shaky exhale, wanting nothing more than to look away, but struggling to commit.
“It’s true. I won’t lie to you.” He tugs me closer, and I stupidly let him.
“But then again you only tell me what you think I need to hear.”
He looks dumbstruck. “That’s not true.”
“It is.” I find the last bit of strength and pull back, tugging my wrist away.
“You didn’t let me in before, and you won’t now.
I’m not going to force you, and I won’t beg either.
Not again. I care about you, I always will, but I won’t break.
I can’t. Rosie doesn’t need that. I’m going to leave now, and you won’t stop me.
Please.” My voice cracks and I hate myself for it.
I was really trying to be strong.
“Okay, I’m sorry.” I know he means it, but I also know he wants to draw me back in. And as painful as it is to admit, I want that too, but he concedes. “Can I have your number?”
“It’s the same one. I never changed it, just in case…but if you forgot it, I’ll give it to you.”
I know what he means.
“No, I remember it too.”
With one last look and the memory of him on his knees burning in my brain, I walk away, knowing if I don’t, I’ll hate myself more than I already do.