Chapter 39
Semantics
We spend the next few hours watching old sitcoms, eating snacks and cuddling.
Lots of cuddling. As the episode currently playing on the laptop comes to an end, Connor closes the lid and pulls me closer towards him.
Unlike the rest of the afternoon where he’s been relaxed, his body is suddenly tense.
Assuming he’s gearing up to have a serious conversation, and there’s nothing more I want to avoid right now than a serious conversation, I try to distract him before he can start.
Leaning into him, I place a kiss on his throat.
I add another and watch his eyes close slowly with either desire or frustration, possibly both, and he passes his tongue over his lips.
Growing bolder, I slide my hand down from his chest towards the waistband of the boxers he threw back on earlier.
But before I can even brush the fabric, Connor’s hand clamps around my wrist, stopping me in my tracks.
“Tilly—”
I start kissing my way down his chest.
“What?” I ask innocently.
“I think we should talk,” he says.
From the way the muscles in his jaw are tightening, I guess it’s taking a lot of self-control to try to stop me. I silently pray that means my plan will work if I keep going.
“So, talk,” I say against the tight skin of his torso.
He sucks in a breath as I move to straddle one of his legs, and I use my free hand to tease the elastic of his underwear.
“It’s pretty hard to focus when you’re doing that.”
“Do you want me to stop?” I look up at him, my head hovering over his now bulging pants, and take in the torn look on his face.
“No.” He tucks a stray lock of hair behind my ear. “But I really think we should talk first.”
Damnit.
The heat between us cools instantly. Reluctantly, I swing my leg back so I’m out of his space, and avoid his gaze. I let my hair hang in front of my face as a handy curtain, hiding me from view. Unfortunately, Connor knows me annoyingly well and sees through it immediately.
“I thought we talked about not hiding from me?” he says softly, brushing my hair out of my face so I have no choice but to look at him. “I know it’s hard, but it’s important, Tilly. We need to figure this out so it doesn’t happen again.”
Conceding, I nod my head and accept the clothes Connor hands me.
It’s the same outfit I wore home from hospital, the one we hastily threw out of the blanket fort in our rush to get each other naked hours before.
Connor must have retrieved them and folded them neatly at some point.
I get dressed while Connor does the same, and soon we’re both fully clothed, sitting cross-legged, facing one another.
Connor produces a hair tie from God-knows-where and hands it to me with a knowing smirk.
There’ll be no hiding away from this conversation.
I tie my hair back. “Why don’t I get us some drinks first?”
“There are bottles of water next to you,” Connor calmly points out.
“I could really use the loo, actually…”
“Tilly, you can’t avoid this conversation forever. It has to happen at some point.”
I sigh. My shoulders slump. Tears fill my eyes. We haven’t even started talking yet and I feel defeated. “Okay,” I say quietly.
“Okay,” Connor repeats soothingly, taking my hands in his. It’s a small gesture but I find it immensely comforting. I use the strength Connor’s presence gives me to sit up straight again.
“Let’s get this over with,” I say. “What do you want to know?”
It’s difficult finding the words to explain to Connor what was going through my head that day at the pier.
At first the words won’t come at all, but once I force out the first few sentences it becomes easier.
Not easy, but easier. Connor listens patiently, nodding along and never interrupting, but occasionally strokes the back of my hand or wipes a tear from my cheek.
It feels good to get it all off my chest, but there’s still a lingering anxiety that he will think I’m crazy and decide I’m not worth the hassle. And I wouldn’t blame him one bit.
“You feel like this all the time? Like you’re worthless?” he asks quietly.
I nod in reply and focus on our joined hands rather than look at his face.
“How… I don’t….” he stutters, searching for the right words. But the joke’s on him; there is no right thing to say here. My reasoning for the way I feel is foolproof. It feels airtight. Indisputable.
“You don’t have to say anything, Connor. It is what it is. I’m just sorry I’ve dragged you into my shitshow of a life.”
“You have no idea how much I used to dream about being in your life, Til. And now I finally am, and you want it to end?”
“No, that’s not what it is.” I sigh, frustrated. I thought I’d made it clear how I felt, but I suppose it’s difficult to understand if you’ve never felt it yourself. “I didn’t want to die. I don’t want to die. But it seems like the best option when all I do is wreck things for everyone.”
“Wait – ‘seems’? Not seemed?”
“Semantics,” I say dismissively, but Connor’s not convinced.
“Don’t tell me you still think that’s an option?”
“I…”
“Because it’s not an option at all, Matilda!” Connor’s eyes have turned wild with panic, and my head spins with guilt.
“Please don’t get upset.”
“The woman I love, the woman I want to spend the rest of my life with, has tried to end her own life and just told me she might try again. Wouldn’t you be upset?” Connor’s voice is full of emotion and his eyes brim with tears. I can’t take the sorrow on his face.
The words hang in the air like static, electrifying and terrifying. I want to reach for them, hold them close, but I don’t know if I deserve them.
“I thought it was for the best.”
Connor heaves a frustrated sigh and runs a hand through his hair.
“What if it was me?” he eventually asks, not looking at me.
“What?”
“What if it was me who jumped off the pier? What if I was sitting in front of you now, telling you I thought I was worthless and the world would be better off without me?”
For a minute I’m speechless. It’s not fair to ask me to compare the two situations because they’re completely different; I ruin everything I touch, while Connor makes everything better.
I make people feel uncomfortable, while Connor builds people up and makes them feel invincible.
The world would be better off without me, but it’s infinitely better with Connor in it.
“It’s not the same—”
“But how would you feel?”
Heartbroken. Devastated. Inconsolable.
“It would be painful,” I admit. “Excruciating. I don’t think I’d survive it.”
“And what if you were on the pier and saw a stranger climbing over the rails to jump. What would you say to them?”
My lip trembles, and my barely audible voice quivers. “I would tell them they shouldn’t do it. I would beg them to climb down and get help.”
“Why?” Connor asks, his voice as quiet as mine, but firm.
“Because jumping wouldn’t solve their problems, it would only cause more pain to the people they love. Because they deserve to live. They deserve to be happy.”
“Tilly, so do you.” Connor pulls me onto his lap and holds me tight as I let myself break down completely.
My body shudders as I sob into his shoulder.
Connor rubs my back and lets me cry until I run out of tears.
I cry for the people I’ve affected with my warped way of thinking.
I cry for Connor and all the pain I’ve put him through.
And I cry for myself and all the years I’ve wasted overthinking when I could have been happy.
Eventually, I pluck up the courage to admit what I should have faced a long time ago. “I think I need some help.”
Connor leans in and whispers, “We’ll find it together.”