35
Saturday, August 2nd
Lexi
My morning alarm is the equivalent of someone running their nails down a chalkboard, and I reach out to slam my hand down on my phone, desperate to end the noise trauma. Instantly, the sweet sounds of silence fill my bedroom, but the sun decides it’s the perfect time to peek in through my window and add an extra blanket of warmth to my skin.
I groan and drag my pillow over my face, my usual routine of getting out of bed at the first sounds of my alarm clearly not happening.
But as I turn over to my side and open my eyes, my vision slowly adjusting from the darkness of my lids to the brightness of the morning, I fixate on the empty spot on my mattress beside me.
For the past few weeks, that spot hasn’t been empty at all. It’s been filled with the larger-than-life man I kicked out of my apartment last night.
He told me he loved me. And I didn’t say anything at all.
He told me he wanted to be with me. And I asked him to leave.
I can’t even begin to explain or understand my reaction to his words. All I know is that my physiological reaction was intense. My heart pounded inside my chest and my ears rang and my feet felt like they had been cemented to the floor.
And the hurt I saw on his face reminded me so much of how I’ve felt after causing tears in my mom’s eyes.
I know I’m the problem. I just don’t know how to fix it.
I turn back over onto my side and snag my phone from the nightstand, my fingers instantly unlocking the screen and opening up my ongoing text chat with Blake.
Are you okay? I type, but my finger hovers over the send button, hanging precariously in the air as I try to decide what to do.
I want to send it, but upon analysis, I have no idea where I’d go if he were to answer.
I delete the three words and lock the screen of my phone.
I don’t want to hurt him, but I don’t know how to be anything else but me. And one of the hardest parts about being me is that I don’t feel things the same way most people do.
Love is abstract. It defies the logical processes my mind utilizes, and the idea of things like soul mates or finding the man of your dreams has always sounded like an unrealistic notion to me.
But Blake believes in those things—believes he’s found them in me; that much is clear.
Everything between Blake and me was supposed to be for fun. It was never supposed to end in I love you .
I wouldn’t have agreed to that.
Love and I are a cosmic mix of oil and water. It’s emotion and I’m science. We can’t go together.
Right?
Eventually, I force myself out of bed and head into my bathroom. My head is pounding and my body aches, and I silently wonder if I’m starting to come down with one of those summer colds my brother Wes always tends to get this time of year.
After I brush my teeth and pull my hair up into a ponytail, I walk back into my bedroom, only a bra and underwear covering my body, and for reasons my mind can’t fathom, I end up grabbing Blake’s oversized T-shirt that I stole from his place a few weeks ago and tossing it over my head.
Instantly, I bury my nose into the neckline, allowing the scent of vanilla to fill my head. Vanilla is known to be a comforting scent that causes a physiological response of relaxation and calm, and I find that’s exactly what it is right now, too. It’s just for comfort. Doesn’t mean anything but that.
Phone in hand, I head into the kitchen and snag a bottle of water out of the fridge, hoping that a little hydration will ease my headache. I even take two ibuprofen for good measure.
But given the fact that Blake’s cologne is now following me around, my mind can’t stop thinking about him. What is he doing right now? Is he engaging in his normal routine of brushing his teeth and watching ESPN while he eats breakfast? Is he eating his usual protein-fueled breakfast of eggs, or has he chosen to give in to his favorite guilty pleasure of Lucky Charms?
Is he mad at me? Does he hate me?
The mere idea of Blake hating me doesn’t make me feel good, and I grab my phone off my kitchen counter. But just before I can rewrite my Are you okay? text, my phone starts ringing in my hands.
Incoming Call Doctor Dad, flashes on the screen, and I answer it by the second ring.
“Hey, Dad.”
“Lex, I have some big news,” he says. “I think I can help Scottie. Actually, I know I can.”
“Help her, how?” I ask. “You think you can assist in her getting more nerve and muscle control?”
“More than that, Lex. I think I can help Scottie walk again.”
I stand there, stunned.
“Let me guess, you’re intrigued,” he says, and I don’t miss the confident but teasing tone in his voice.
“Incredibly so.”
He chuckles. “You got some free time today? Scottie will be coming in to discuss her case and treatment options at ten.”
“I can be there in an hour.”
Science. It’s comfortable. It’s what I know. The rest is much harder to figure out.