Chapter 43 You’re Losing Me #2
“No—Dylan, please—” Her voice broke as her hand flew to her mouth, tears already spilling down her cheeks.
He turned around slowly.
Ali was crying, full and raw, trying to speak through the rush of panic. “I didn’t mean it like that—I wasn’t trying to hide you—I just… I froze. I panicked. I didn’t want her to hurt you or twist anything or—”
“Ali,” he said, holding up a hand. Not sharp. Just quiet. Measured. “Breathe.”
She tried, but it hitched. Her shoulders shook with the effort. She wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand, hiccupping through it.
Then—a soft knock at the bedroom door.
Dylan stood slowly and crossed the room, his footsteps quiet on the hardwood. He opened the door just a crack.
Ashley stood on the other side, her expression drawn with concern. “I heard—”
“I’ve got it, Ash. Thanks,” he said, calm and steady, no heat in his voice. Just tired. Anchored.
Ashley glanced past him to Ali, whose face was blotchy and wet and whose fingers trembled at her sides. Ali gave the smallest wave, her lips pressed tight.
Ashley hesitated, but nodded once and stepped back. “Okay. Just holler.”
Dylan closed the door gently behind her. Then turned back to Ali.
He took a long breath.
Then another.
And finally—finally—he sat on the edge of the bed. Far enough to give her space. Close enough to show he hadn’t walked out yet.
“Okay,” he said. “Talk.”
He watched her for a long moment. The hiccupping breaths. The way her fingers twisted in the hem of her t-shirt dress. Her eyes, rimmed with red but locked on his like she was begging him not to go—not yet.
So he didn’t.
He waited.
Finally, she spoke.
“When I was in the hospital,” Ali said, her voice barely above a whisper, “They diagnosed me with Borderline Personality Disorder. I didn’t even know what that meant at the time. I just…I thought I was broken.”
Dylan didn’t move. Didn’t breathe too loud. He just listened.
“I’ve spent years in therapy trying to understand it. To manage it. To live with it. And I have. Mostly. But there are still triggers.” Her voice cracked, but she powered through. “Fear of abandonment is one of them. And tonight…Jenna? She was the trigger.”
She swallowed hard, voice trembling.
“I saw her and it was like I was twenty again. Weak. Ashamed. Disposable. And you—you—you’re the only good thing I ever had from that time in my life, and I panicked. Because the second she looked at me, I felt like I didn’t deserve you.”
Dylan’s chest tightened.
Ali’s hands balled into fists in her lap.
“I’ve worked so damn hard to move forward, Dylan. I swear. But trauma’s weird. It’s sticky. And sometimes it shows up before I can catch it. Tonight…I messed up. I know I messed up. And by the time I realized what I was saying, I couldn’t figure out how to fix it without making it worse.”
She let out a shaky breath.
“I wanted to protect us…but I made you feel like I was ashamed. And that’s not true. It’s the opposite, actually. I’ve never loved anyone the way I love you.”
Dylan’s jaw clenched as he stared down at his hands. When he finally spoke, his voice was low.
“You built a wall between us tonight,” he said. “And it was just as solid as the one I count on every Sunday to protect me.”
Ali flinched.
“But, I’m still sitting here,” he added softly.
She looked up.
“I’m still here,” he repeated. “Because I know what trauma can do. I’ve seen it. And I know it doesn’t mean you don’t love me. But, baby…you’ve got to let me stand beside you. Not behind you. Not hidden. Not like a damn secret.”
Ali nodded, tears spilling again. “I want that. I really do. I just…sometimes the fear wins before I even know it’s fighting me.”
Dylan leaned forward, forearms resting on his knees.
“Then we fight it together.”
She let out a tiny, disbelieving laugh through her tears.
Dylan reached for her hand.
“You’re not broken, Ali. You’re fighting. And I can work with that. I just need you to stop shutting me out when things get scary. Let me be scared with you.”
Her hand squeezed his. Tight. Desperate.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
“I know,” he said.
Then he reached out and gently pulled her into his arms—slow, deliberate, like giving her time to resist.
She didn’t.
She melted into him, breath shuddering, face tucked into his neck. And Dylan closed his eyes.
For a moment, he just held her. Let the silence settle. Let the weight of everything they’d just said start to shift—just a little. But even as her sobs softened, something sharp still sat in his chest. A wound he hadn’t dared touch in years.
“I need to tell you something,” he murmured, his voice low and rough. “Something I’ve never said out loud. Not even to Daisy.”
Ali didn’t move, but he felt her breath catch against his skin.
“I was traumatized too,” he said. “That night…when they wouldn’t let me in the hospital to see you. When they told me I wasn’t family, that I had to wait. I thought—” His voice cracked. He swallowed hard. “I thought you were already gone. And I hadn’t even said goodbye.”
Her fingers clutched at his back like she could take the words away, but he kept going, voice steadier now.
“For a solid year, I had night terrors. Panic attacks. I’d wake up gasping, thinking I was too late.
I got help—campus health started it, and after I got drafted, the Tritons put me in touch with a team psychologist. I worked through it.
But, baby…” He pulled back just enough to look her in the eyes.
“You did abandon me. Back then. And I get it. I know why now. I know it wasn’t to hurt me. But it broke me anyway.”
Tears welled in her eyes again, brimming, silent.
“And tonight, when you said we weren’t together—when you wouldn’t let yourself say I was yours?” He let out a breath, thick with emotion.
Ali let out a soft sound—a mix between a sob and a gasp. Her hands cradled his face now, trembling.
“I’m not trying to punish you,” he added, gently. “But I need you to know—I’m scared too. I’ve loved you every day for ten years, and I don’t think I can survive losing you again.”
Ali didn’t speak. She didn’t have to. Her eyes were wide and shimmering, mouth parted like she wanted to say something but couldn’t find the breath. Couldn’t find the strength.
So Dylan just leaned forward again, pressing his forehead gently to hers.
They stayed like that.
No more confessions. No fixing. No unraveling the past.
Just breath.
Just the quiet.
Her fingers slowly unclenched in his shirt. His hand slid up her back, holding her close, not to keep her—but to let her stay.
He felt her heartbeat slow against his chest. His own body ached with exhaustion, but not just from the day. From the years. From everything they were finally letting themselves feel.
No tidy endings. No whispered promises.
Just rest.
“I’m not going anywhere,” he whispered finally, lips barely brushing her temple.
And then he settled them in the bed, pulling the comforter over them both as he laid back with her in his arms.
Still here. Still his. Still hers.
For now, that was enough.
When her breathing evened out, warm and steady against his chest, Dylan knew she was asleep.
She didn’t let go of him.
Not completely.
Her fingers stayed curled in his shirt, like if she loosened her grip, he’d vanish. And maybe… part of her still believed that.
He stayed still for a long while, staring at the ceiling in the dark. His mind wouldn’t shut off. Not after everything she’d said. Not after everything he’d finally said back.
He reached for his phone off the nightstand, careful not to jostle her, and angled the screen away from her face. The light burned at first. Then he opened Safari.
He typed: Borderline Personality Disorder.
Then: Fear of abandonment BPD. How to support someone with BPD. Loving someone with BPD.
He scrolled in the dark, devouring every word in silence. The clinical definitions. The symptoms. The stigma. The pain behind it all. The strength it must’ve taken for her to sit on that bed and say it out loud.
She’d been trying. Every day.
He swallowed hard, his chest tight.
He ordered a book on about being in a relationship with someone who suffers from BPD that he kept seeing recommended.
He couldn’t fix this for her. He knew that. But he could learn. He could meet her there. Not just in the good moments—but in the panic, the spirals, the dark. Because she deserved someone who wouldn’t flinch when the fear crept in.
And dammit, he was going to be that person.