Chapter 23 Ella #2
“No, I’m not,” I told him. “You don’t know me well enough yet to say that.
You haven’t seen me when I vent my anger.
All I’ve ever been around you is happy, bubbly, Ella.
Just because that’s a huge part of my personality, it doesn’t mean it’s the entirety.
I get fucking sad, sometimes. I get so mad I end up crying, because if I don’t cry, I’ll scream.
Certain times of the month, I can even be an overly sarcastic, borderline bitch.
Because I get hormonal. And who’s to say our relationship will last long enough for me to find out what symptoms you end up manifesting?
” I asked. “I’m telling you I want to be here for you.
Now. That I want to be with you. Now. That I want to help you through this.
That doesn’t mean I want to get married and have your babies.
I’m twenty-three. I don’t even know if I want children.
Literally anything could happen between us.
We might be great for a solid two years and then not be able to get over our communication problems and break up.
Or five years and fall out of love. There might be a nuclear apocalypse.
Mother nature might finally say, ‘ENOUGH!’ and decide to murder all of us. ”
He gripped the edge of the counter and leaned back, head down, breathing deeply.
“Don’t you understand, Ella?” He looked up at me from behind a curtain of hair.
“I can’t even think about any of that. I can’t imagine what could happen between us.
In all your imaginary scenarios, you’re forgetting one thing.
I might not even be me.” He straightened and pounded a fist against his chest. “This me. The me I am right now. I might be someone I don’t…
” tears welled in his eyes, “…someone I don’t recognize. ”
Oh, fuck.
I stood there and stared at him, so sad that I couldn’t even cry.
So stunned that I had nothing to say in response.
Because he was right. He was absolutely right.
I’d been overly optimistic. In my planning, Ben’s symptoms were manageable.
They manifested slowly enough that we had time to recognize them and react.
What if they weren’t? What if they didn’t?
What if he was fine one day, and then the next he had trouble remembering my name?
What if I heard a noise, walked around a corner, and discovered him on the floor, in the throes of a seizure?
What if he got mean? Really mean? Or he tried to seriously hurt me, or his parents… or himself?
That’s what he was trying to get me to see. That’s why he wanted me to go home. Because I did need to think about this. I’d been ignoring some of Sophia’s most important advice. I hadn’t gone down every worst-case scenario.
What if things did work out between us? What if they were great for five solid years?
What if we got married and had babies and everything seemed manageable and then *boom* his CTE suddenly manifested in some devastating way?
Being with him might be so hard on me that I lost myself too.
Was I willing to risk that? Was I willing to endure years of heartache and pain watching someone I loved succumb to a debilitating chronic illness that I could do nothing to control or make better?
Anticipatory grief hit me like a battering ram.
It hit me so hard that I realized I didn’t just like him; I was falling in love with him.
But love wasn’t the end all be all. It wasn’t some miracle cure.
This wasn’t a movie or a romance novel where we could say the words “I love you” and then ride off into the sunset together to live happily ever after.
My love couldn’t “fix” Ben. I couldn’t “fix” Ben.
Hell, I might not even be able to help him if his symptoms were worst-case scenario.
“You’re right,” I told him.
He wiped impatiently at his cheeks and didn’t meet my eyes. “I know.”
“I’m going to stay until your parents get back, at least.”
“Okay,” he said, nodding.
I hated this. I fucking hated this. I wanted to stay.
I didn’t want to leave him. I didn’t want to lose him.
If he was only trying to push me away for my own wellbeing, I would fight him more on this, but it was clear that he needed this break as much as I did.
Ben had to come first right now. His mental health needed to be the most important thing.
But God, this hurt. My stomach was in knots. It felt like someone had reached into my chest and was trying to pull my heart out through my ribcage.
I struggled to push the worst of the pain down as I rounded the corner of the island and went to him, wrapping my arms around his waist. His own came up and gripped my shoulders, hugging me so hard it was almost painful.
An hour later, I pulled out of his driveway.
I made it halfway up the hill before I had to stop on the side of the road, unable to hold myself together any longer. The steering wheel was cold against my forehead as I cried.
Was this it? Was this how it ended?