Chapter 19 #3
He stops then. I’m about to say something, anything, to try and make this better.
Then he speaks again, his voice quiet. “I don’t want to run.
I want to figure out how to take a goddam breath like the rest of the world does.
I want to be more than what I am. I want to stop hiding.
It’s me doing it to me. You’re right. I want to punish myself.
I hate being in my head, but I don’t want to get out of it.
I hate who I am, but I’ve made no real effort to change.
I’m so tired of myself. Just so tired. I’m exhausted, and that’s even more pathetic. ”
Fuck. I don’t know what to do. The things I want to say are going to sound like a therapist. Maybe I shouldn’t say anything. Maybe I should just listen.
I meet his haunted, beautiful eyes so he knows that I’m here.
“I hear you. I do. I can wait until you do the books and I’ll drive you back home.
I can stay, if you want someone close while you sleep, or I can go.
We could go to my place, no expectations.
Just a snack, a cup of coffee, or sleep.
If you want to talk, I’ll listen. If not, that’s okay. ”
He throws up his hands, pacing a few steps away from me. “I’m sorry. I was freaking out. I’m not gonna do anything stupid if you leave me alone. And- god, I’m sorry for what you saw. I don’t normally do that. I channel my rage and other shit into working out or going for a ride.”
“I’m sorry for backing you into a corner.”
“No. You didn’t.”
“I’m sorry for not respecting your boundaries or listening to you.”
He shakes his head. “You have no idea how much I need for someone to call me on my own bullshit.”
“It’s not all bullshit.”
“No, but some of it is.”
“Will you let me drive you home? I don’t want you riding when you’re upset.”
That same mean smile wants to curl over his lips, but he catches himself and forces them into a flat line. “I ride all the time, especially when I’m upset. It helps.”
“Okay. If you’re sure.”
“I might not be sure about some shit, but I’m sure about that.”
He looks like he wants to say more. Like he doesn’t want to say anything ever again. He looks like he’s staring down the impossible but still wants to reach for it. He’s allowing me to see all of his thoughts play out in one of the rare, unguarded moments that I will treasure forever.
“Will you- uh- come over later? Or is it too late?”
“It’s not too late.”
“To do what you said? To talk?”
“I’d like that.”
Opening up like this is a thousand times more intimate than making a plan to hook up. Sex is great. It’s a special kind of trust and intimacy. But there are other kinds of soul-to-soul.
“I’m not an easy person to be around.”
“That’s not true at all. Justice and Stone adore you, and I don’t think those boys are ones who just get in line and pretend, or do something that they don’t want to do.
I’ve seen the way they watch you. They idolize you.
Rita loves you. My dad? He doesn’t mind being around you at all.
Half those guys at the club? They’d probably love it if you hung around the place or wanted to do something one on one. ”
“They’re obligated.”
“Nope.” I mean that with everything I have.
“They humor me. And teenagers don’t have an ounce of sense.”
“Definitely nope.”
“They all want to press down on me.”
“That’s what love looks like, sweetheart.
” He flinches at the term of endearment, but I don’t stop.
“It’s caring. It’s wanting to make sure a person is doing okay.
It’s being interested in them, proud of them, feeling what they’re feeling right alongside of them, or at least listening and offering comfort.
They do love you. Properly. The way a person should be loved.
As family should and as a friend should. ”
“I don’t know if I like it or not. It makes me feel weird.”
“You can’t control how other people are going to love you. That can be both good and bad. I think that you can help them understand, though. You can tell other people what you need and what you don’t like.”
“I don’t like any of it.”
I can’t help my smile, but at least I don’t snort or laugh. He’s being so purposely stubborn, and I can tell he doesn’t mean a single word. “Is that the truth or a defense mechanism?”
“It’s society being shit for someone like me to live in.”
“You’re right. Society is shit. But we’re not society.
I’m not. I’m me.” That’s about as close as I’m going to get to telling him how I feel.
Already, I think I’m going to burst with it.
How am I supposed to hold it in while it only grows and grows and takes me over?
How am I supposed to wait for the right time, or even know when that is?
“And I’ll always be here for you. I’ll follow you wherever you want me to go. ”
Yeah. Alright. That probably did it.
His eyes widen, and I can tell that he’s had enough. He needs to work and decompress. He needs space and time.
“I can see myself out and I’ll make sure the door is shut tight and that it locks after me. Do you want to text me when you want me to come over? If you change your mind, it’s okay. Truly. Whatever you need.”
“Yeah,” he says tightly. “I’ll text.”
It’s not the least bit convincing, but I can smile at him, kiss his cheek, and walk out of the club without freaking out about everything, because I trust him. He said he’ll text, and I know he will.
I just hope that I can find the words he needs, when he needs them, or that I can listen with everything I have, while he finds the ones he needs.