His questions surprise me. “Right now? Cocaine and Percocet.”
He looks away, but I don’t miss the way his eyes well up. “Wasn’t that what you overdosed on?”
“Xanax and Percocet were what I overdosed on.”
“I don’t get why you’d lie to me—to my fucking face—and tell me it was a one-time thing? Why? Why do you do it, knowing what could happen?”
“You wouldn’t get it, Anderson.”
“Try me.” His gaze comes back to me, fiery determination blazing in his eyes.
He wants to fix me, I can see it. He thinks he can kill my demons and cure my sickness. If only he knew there is no saving me. No fixing me. He’s only hurting himself by trying to. He can’t be my knight riding in on a white horse.
“You don’t get it. You’ll never fucking get it, Anderson. You have Aston. You have your parents. You have people who love you unconditionally. You’ve never had to know what it’s like to feel so utterly alone for days or weeks at a time. You’ve never experienced waking up alone as a teenager, going to school alone, coming home alone, making yourself fucking dinneralone. They say they love me, throw black cards and nice cars at me to prove it, but they’re never fucking here!”
I can see him watching me in my peripheral, but I can’t bring myself to meet his gaze. I can’t face him. He needs to finally hear it, finally understand how fucked up I am, but I can’t watch when the disgust eventually mars his features.
“I started playing football in high school, hoping it would make my dad show up more. It didn’t, obviously. But the more I trained and the better I got, football seemed like my ticket to finding happiness. Something that would be all mine.”
I finally chance a look at him and wish I hadn’t. His deep green eyes watch me, mouth turned down. I don’t need his fucking pity. Breaking eye contact, I look down at my lap and reluctantly continue. “Then when I got injured, it was like that was all ripped away. My dreams and potential for a future were gone. Like an idiot, I thought my parents would finally give a shit, actually show up.” A laugh bubbles from my throat as I speak the words aloud and realize how fucking lame it sounds.
“Nah. They spent a few days at home with me, but didn’t want to cancel their plans. Turks.” I scoff. “They didn’t want to cancel their trip to Turks.” I pick at the skin around my thumb as I let all that sink in.
“Crew…” he starts, voice quiet but full of emotion.
Shaking my head, I continue. “The pills helped numb the feeling of drowning in self-pity… and self-loathing. They didn’t even fucking notice when I got addicted. I overdosed, and they sent me away without a second thought. Didn’t even talk to me about it. Ask why, or how. I’mall alone, Anderson. All. Fucking. Alone.” My fist slams down on the table as I glance over at him, anger bubbling below the surface. “And you’ll never know what that’s like, and I’m happy for you, man. I really am. But don’t sit here and pretend you can get it or look at me with your fucking pity. You can’t fucking fix me.”
He wipes a tear away, and it pisses me off. “You’re not all alone. You fucking have me.”
“Give me a fucking break.” I laugh. “You go to school four fucking hours away and are gone most of the year down there. You will graduate, find your place in the world, and be happy. Without me.”
Anderson rears back like I slapped him, brows pinched tight as more tears fall. “That’s not fucking true.”
Huffing a dry laugh, I reply, “You’re not fooling anyone but yourself.”
“How can you say that? I’ve fuckingalwaysbeen there for you. Even when I’m four hours away.”
“Like I said, Anderson, you don’t get it. You never will.”
With eyes wild with unbridled emotion, he sits forward, smacking his hand on the table. “You’re killing yourself. You know that, right?”
“Yeah, man. I know. Trust me. I fucking know.”
“And that’s what you want? To kill yourself?” The tears are falling heavy now, his face blotchy and red.
Watching him for a moment, I let out a heavy sigh, looking away. “Maybe. Maybe that’d be for the best. For me. For you. For everyone.”
He lets out a choked sob, and I can’t bring myself to look at him. I’m shattering his heart, destroying him piece by jagged piece, and I can’t stop it. Standing up, I walk toward the other side of the yard, needing distance.
Hurting him isn’t easy for me. It’s why I’ve kept this a secret for so many years. He’s everything good in my world. He’s the light in my sea of darkness. The ray of sunshine after a menacing storm. The two of us really are like yin and yang. Two opposite sides of the spectrum, but somehow are drawn to each other. Maybe in another life, his light would have cured me. But I’m terminal. Broken.
He comes up behind me, and Ifeelhim before I hear him. He doesn’t touch me, but his presence in and of itself is deafening. The tension around us is always thick, and his feelings are palpable. My eyes flutter closed when his arms wrap around my torso. His chest molds with my back, head resting on my shoulder, face nestled into the crook of my neck. His hot breath fans my skin, goosebumps breaking out along my flesh.
Moisture drips onto my neck, the air making it feel cool, as he kisses my overheated skin. The backs of my eyes sting with stifling emotions I’m not at all prepared to deal with. He’s holding on to me so tight, like he’s afraid I’ll vanish into thin air if he lets go.
He’s trembling, body shaking beyond his control with his sobs. I hang my head as the first tear falls from my eyes. I’m so fucked up; I don’t deserve him. I’m a disease that will do nothing but ruin him. He deserves more than the shell of a human I am.
“Please look at me,” he whispers against my neck.