36. Indiana
T here are things in my life that I’m not proud of, some I’m downright ashamed of. If I think about them too long, I start to get this creeping feeling. It's overwhelming and inescapable, like a blanket that weighs more than I can bear, crushing me slowly, inch by merciless inch.
It doesn’t happen as often anymore, but right now I can feel the overwhelm starting to set in.
I will not pass out on Knox’s porch with all of his family waiting to yell surprise just inside.
Don’t you fucking dare, Indiana. I swallow the hot lump in my throat that’s working its way behind my eyes.
I’ve been in pain plenty of times to recognize its sharp razor’s sting, slicing at the edges of my resolve.
Knox looks so angry. With me. I’ve never seen him so angry before.
Frustrated, yes. Annoyed, frequently. But this?
This is anger—and it’s all directed at me.
Surely this is just a mistake. My fingers are starting to tingle, and my ears are burning.
I need to retreat; I don’t have it in me to explain right now.
His frustration is coming off him in waves, and it's doing its best to settle into me too .
“That’s not fair, Knox. I-I d-didn’t?—”
The wind picks up, as if in anticipation of the storm Knox has brewing beneath his calm exterior. I’m helpless to stop this. My body paralyzed by the look of contempt I’m on the receiving end of. When the silence between us breaks, it’s worse than I imagined.
“You didn’t think about how this would affect anyone but you, Indie.
You’re always doing things that no one’s asked you to do or taking things that don’t belong to you.
You’ve been doing it since day one, so I don’t know why I’m surprised.
You meddle and you push, and you don’t fucking listen.
I told you I would see about the dance class fitting into the schedule, but that wasn’t an invitation for you to take it upon yourself.
” He stops, and I think the worst is over; I can apologize, I’ll explain that it wasn’t me.
I can tell him that I'll work on it. I’m always working on it, and it’s exhausting, but for him, I will. I’ll do better. But he’s not done.
“You know, it’s no wonder your sister never calls you back. You’re constantly inserting yourself in places you shouldn’t be.” I feel like I’ve been slapped. The pain has crossed from mental to physical. I’m squeezing my hands so tightly into fists that my nails are cutting into the skin of my palm.
I would like to argue with him. Explain that I didn’t do this thing he’s so upset over. Only it’s not just this one thing, is it? I can’t tell him that I’m a different person. I’ve tried to be someone else, and it’s not possible for me.
His face has gone blurry, the unshed tears gathering and distorting his shape.
My body is filled with dread and exhaustion and sadness that can only be described as devastation.
I open my mouth, praying that the words will come to me so I can say anything that would make him look at me like he had last night, but nothing comes out.
I’m frozen again, like I had been that night.
He rubs the back of his neck. “I’m not sure this is going to work.
Our age difference is feeling less like a small roadblock and more like a problem.
” Another blow. This time to my ego. I’ve never thought him mean before, and maybe it’s not that he’s being mean, it's just that he’s being honest, and the truth is painful.
I nod. In agreement? I don’t agree. In understanding?
I don’t understand. Maybe I nod to end this before it becomes too much, and I find myself waking up on the porch.
Darkness is setting in, and it’s not just the clouds gathering overhead. There’s rushing in my ears, drowning out my embarrassment.
Oh god. His family is just mere feet away, getting a front row seat to this. Hazel. Her name slices through me. It will kill me to lose my connection to her.
“I’m s-sorry,” I rasp out and then walk past him as steadily as I can, down the stairs, into the rain.