“When are we getting married, huh?” I ask, watching as he moves on to scrubbing the sink. “I’m thinking of a summer wedding.”
Whit huffs and looks over at me.
I lean against the counter, then move toward him, wrapping my hands around his waist and tucking my face into his neck.
It’s only then that I realize he’s shaking and not in a humorous way.
“Hey,” I say softly. “Hey, baby. Come here.”
He drops the sponge, and with soapy hands, he turns into me and buries his head into my shoulder.
“I’m sorry.”
“No, no need to apologize,” I say, running my hand up and down his back. It’s tense under my fingers.
“I…I’m a mess. I hate…I….” He clutches at my shirt, and I press a kiss to his temple.
“Whit. Is it me teasing you about being engaged? I know this is casual…I was just being an asshole.”
“No, it’s…I hate hospitals. I just hated seeing you in there. You have to be more careful next time. I can’t see you like that again.”
I’m silent for a moment, and then I nod. “Okay, I’ll do my best to stay out of trouble.”
He exhales shakily and then explains, “I…I spent a lot of time in hospitals growing up.”
“Why?” I ask, keeping him tucked into me. His fingers are tight against my shirt.
“I wasn’t well…mentally.”
I inhale deeply but don’t say a word, just let the silence settle around us.
“I hated my life. Hated my parents. I…I tried to kill myself more than once. It didn’t work. It never worked….”
“Shit,” I mutter, and then despite my injuries and the way my body aches and trembles, I pick him up. He’s heavier than I expect, but I’m still stronger. His legs wrap around me without protest, his face still tucked into my neck when I settle us on the couch. Him straddling my lap, me holding him tightly.
“I’m glad it didn’t work, Whit,” I say after a moment of silence.
“Do you think differently of me now?” he asks, his face still not meeting mine.
“No. I like you just the same. More probably. Because I get to know you.”
He shudders beneath me, and I just hold him, my mind running rampant with this new information he’s just given me. His home life must have been awful for him to have attempted suicide so many times. If I ever meet his parents, I’m going to kill them.
“Are you okay now?” I ask, needing to know what I’m dealing with.
“Yeah, moving away from my parents helped a lot. I haven’t had an issue since freshman year.”
“Good, you need to stay away then. Promise me you’ll stay away.”
Whit is silent, not acknowledging my request, not acknowledging me one way or another, but he doesn’t move from my lap. Just stays there, tucked against me for what feels like hours.
When he finally moves away, he looks at me with red-rimmed eyes.
“I missed you,” I say, brushing his hair behind his ears, and he presses his lips into the palm of my hand.
“Can I…can I show you something?” he asks, his voice wobbling slightly, his eyes shiny.
“Of course,” I reply gently, and he swallows roughly.