Chapter 33 Beckett #2
“You hungry?” I ask, and she once again just nods. “What would you like?” I ask, and she thinks about it for a few minutes. When I think that she’s not going to make a decision, she surprises me.
“Pasta,” she says, and I nod, not questioning it.
“Ok, order takeout. We can pick it up and take it home with us,” I say, and she nods, looking back down at her phone.
“Olive Garden sounds good. What would you like?”
“Just the spaghetti with meatballs,” I answer, and she nods, adding it to the cart.
I reroute us. Driving us to the other side of the city so we can pick it up.
Once she places the order, she sets her phone down and looks out the window.
It’s times like this that I wish that I could read her mind. That I knew what was going on inside her head.
I know that there’s a lot happening in there, all the time, because I can see it in her eyes. She’s never not thinking, no matter how much she wishes she couldn’t. I can see the wheels constantly turning, and I can’t imagine how exhausting it must be for her.
I worry all the time about it, actually.
I think that she might be developing some form of depression; the constant sleeping, the puffy eyes, the lack of communication.
It hurts me because I want her to trust me enough to talk to me.
I know that communicating is often hard for her.
She’s never had someone who listens. I don’t know how to get her to open up without scaring her off.
So I just wait until she comes to me, even though I don’t know when that’ll be.
She’s quiet the whole drive across town, even once we get there, and someone brings the food out, she stays quiet, which is very unlike her.
“You okay?” I ask, taking a different way home and pulling over off the road a little bit before putting the truck in park.
She doesn’t move, she just looks out the window.
“Baby,” I whisper, gently taking her hand in mine. A weird feeling settles into my gut, one I can’t explain, but it says that something is very wrong.
When she looks at me, there are tears in her eyes, confirming what my gut already knows: something is wrong, and the feeling in my gut gets worse. The words are out of my mouth before I can think about them.
“Show me,” I whisper.
She shakes her head as the tears begin to fall. She pulls back from me as the most gut-wrenching sound I’ve ever heard leaves her throat.
“Show me,” I repeat, not making any move to pull her to me. My voice is softer than I’ve heard it before as I fight the emotions that threaten to overwhelm me. “What did you do?” I whisper. She just cries harder, the tears pouring out of her eyes.
“I—I can’t… please.” She can’t form a sentence as I push up the center console and pull her into my arms, holding her tight as she fights me.
She loses her fight fast, collapsing into my arms and holding onto me tightly.
“I’m not mad, baby. Just please let me see,” I whisper, kissing the top of her head. My hand runs up and down her back, trying to calm her down.
She shakes her head, her face buried in my chest. “No…no…no…” she whispers over and over, her head shaking back and forth.
Seeing her like this breaks my heart, but I need to know if my gut feeling is right. I need to see how bad it is. I need to make sure that if there are any new cuts, they have been properly taken care of. I won’t let her go through this on her own.
“I’m not mad, I just want to see, please,” I beg, trying to make her look at me. She just shakes her head and keeps her face pressed firmly into my chest.
I don’t push her, I just hold her until she calms down. It takes awhile, but eventually her sobs subside into a light trickle and some hiccups. It takes even longer for her to pull her face out of my chest so that I can look at her.
Her eyes are red and puffy when she does look up at me. I cup her face in my palms and wipe away her tears before pressing a soft kiss to her forehead.
I don’t say anything at first, I just hold her face and hope that she’ll open up to me.
“I’m not mad, I just want to make sure you’re ok,” I repeat, unsure if she’s even able to hear the words.
“I don’t want you to hate me,” she whispers, her eyes leaving mine. I don’t make her look at me. I want her comfortable, and if she can’t do this while looking at me, then she doesn’t have to.
“I won’t, I promise. I just want to see,” I whisper, taking her hands in mine and gently brushing my thumbs over her trembling knuckles.
She stares down at our hands for a long time before she pulls away from me and slowly slides her leggings down her thighs with shaky hands. I try not to react, but the gasp that leaves me is instinctual as I see the mess that she’s made out of her perfect legs.
“Baby…” I trail off, my vision going blurry as I look at the deep, fresh cuts on her thighs.
“I…I…I…” she stutters. I look up at her, and she stops talking, even more tears flooding her vision.
“Shhhh, it’s ok,” I whisper, my voice cracking. My eyes find hers for a moment before looking back down at her thighs.
The sun is starting to set, casting soft hues of gold on her. I can’t help but think that she’s the most beautiful person that I’ve ever met in my life.
My eyes dance over the preexisting scars, tonight confirming in my mind what I already know; she used to self-harm. I have no idea what would have caused her to start doing it again, but you never know what’s going on inside someone’s head.
My thumb gently traces over one of the bigger cuts, and I feel myself start to tear up even more. I can’t believe I missed this, that I wasn’t there for her when she needed me most. It’s all my fault.
“When?” I manage to get out through my choked throat.
“Yesterday,” she whispers. All I can do is nod my head.
Yesterday, while she was alone. No wonder she didn’t want to stay home by herself today. I feel horrible as I look down at them.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers, her voice cracking. And for the first time in several minutes, I look at her.
“You don’t have to apologize,” I whisper. She reaches up and wipes one of my tears away, one that I hadn’t even felt slip down my cheek.
“Yes, I do. I’m sorry for being broken. I’m sorry for not being strong enough to fight off all the voices in my head. I’m so sorry that you have to be the one who sees me like this,” she rambles, but I shake my head.
I reach out and gently pull her pants back up her legs before pulling her into my lap. She doesn’t fight me; she rests her forehead against my chest.
“You don’t ever have to be sorry for feeling the way that you do. I just wish that you had come to me when you needed help…” I stare at her beautiful face. “I’ll never be mad at you for trying to find something that makes you feel something,” I whisper, pressing a soft kiss to the top of her head.
“I know I should’ve, but I was scared, and I didn’t know what to do,” she mumbles.
“It’s ok. Just call me, I don’t care what I’m doing, just call me please.”
“I’ve already inconvenienced you so much this summer.”
“You are not, and will never be, an inconvenience in my life, pretty girl. You have no idea how much you mean to me, and how much it hurts that I wasn’t there to help you.”
She looks up at me, and she cups my face in her hands, using her thumbs to brush away a few more tears.
“I can’t lose you,” I whisper.
I’m not sure where the words come from, but I know that they are true—I can’t lose her. I was not much of a person before I met her. Just the thought of her leaving tears me apart inside.
“You won’t. I’m yours, Beck,” she whispers.
There are no words in the English language to explain how I’m feeling, so instead I just press my lips to hers in a deep kiss.
My hands tangle in her hair as I kiss her, claiming her as mine.
When we pull away, all I can do is just look at her, admire how strong and beautiful that she really is.
“Briar isn’t my father,” she whispers suddenly. “And I’m pretty sure Monica wants you to be my new stepdad.”
“Wait, what?”