When I Fall

I’ve never said one word to Reed I didn’t mean. Last night was no exception.

“It’s okay.”

He didn’t say it back. He didn’t say anything. My heart slowly pulsed against his back as I held him, as he drifted to sleep turned away from me. As I waited and waited for that moment to hit him. Fear kept him silent, or maybe that wasn’t it at all. Maybe he doesn’t love me. Maybe he can’t. Maybe . . .

“No one will ever love you the way I do. No one.”

I squeeze my eyes shut. “No,” I whisper, pushing the unwanted voice out of my head, but it grows louder, seeping into every crevice of my soul. Mocking me with the truth I’m too scared to admit.

“No one will want you.”

I violently shake my head. Rocco’s face materializes behind my eyes, his merciless smirk twisting across his mouth as he laughs at me. I can almost hear it above the rushing in my ears, above the cruel words. Above my doubt.

Throwing myself out of bed, I grab my clothes and quickly dress, my hands shaking as I step into the bathroom. Amber light flickers on above my head. The door shuts behind me and I want to collapse against it, but I don’t. I dampen a washcloth and rub it over my face, underneath my hair, to the back of my neck. I rinse out my mouth. Bracing my hands on the sink, I stare at my reflection. Long minutes pass as I study my face.

I was unraveling at the diner. I was breaking down in the hotel room. But I don’t believe I’ve ever looked this broken. The chipped fragments of my heart are cutting me, slowly bleeding me out, draining the light from my eyes.

I chose to love a man who can’t love me. Who will never love me.

Movement in the room pulls my gaze from the mirror. I step up to the door and listen.

He’s dressing, the sound of fabric dragging across skin. I hear shuffling, then all too quickly the door opens and I’m facing Reed.

“Hey, hi,” he quickly utters, startled. He looks half asleep. He clears his throat, looking past me. His eyes shifting nervously. “Need to use the bathroom. We gotta get going. It’s almost ten.”

Tears gather in my eyes and I blink them away. What was I expecting? He can’t do this. He warned me himself.

“Yeah,” I reply, padding out into the room. The door shuts behind me and I’m left alone.

I wait for Reed out by his truck.

It’s no longer raining. The sky a kaleidoscope of blues and soft pinks. I stand in a shallow puddle, watching the mud squeeze out from under my boots. Growing impatient, and realizing I can’t have Reed help me into his truck anymore, I test the handle to see if it’s unlocked.

My hand falls to my side. I heave a deep breath just as a clicking sound pops the small tab up behind the window. Reed saunters purposely toward me over my shoulder. I tug the handle and climb inside, tumbling against the seat, quickly fastening the harness as he reaches my door.

His brow knits together as he stares up at me. “You good?”

God, how do I even answer that?

Nodding, I rest back against the seat, my eyes trained ahead. “Fine.” Tension makes my stomach clench. I feel nauseous. I pray I don’t puke all over the dark leather interior.

My vocabulary diminishes to one word responses the entire trip home, not that there’s ample conversation flowing between us. Reed is deathly quiet for the most part, only asking me if I want to listen to music, if I’m hungry, and if I want him to stop. I can’t eat. I wouldn’t be able to stomach it. I give him my answers while I stare out the window, never turning my head.

Two and a half hours feels like a lifetime. I bite my cheek when I feel the threat of tears, the pain distracting me, harnessing my focus on the metallic taste coating my tongue. I can’t cry. Not yet. Not when I still need to let go of him.

Reed pulls into the driveway and shifts into park. I have so much to say, but so little is needed.

He breaks the silence first as I’m shoving the harness off my shoulders.

“I’m going to head over to Ben’s to finish up the deck. I’m fucking wiped, so, I’ll probably just crash after.”

Our eyes lock. My arms suddenly feel heavier, my limbs sticking to the seat.

That’s all he has to say to me. Indeed, so little is needed.

I turn away and tug on the door handle. “Thank you for what you said to my dad, and for helping me through that. That meant a lot to me.”

“Of course,” he replies easily. No stammer to his words.

I turn around after climbing out of the truck.

His eyes search my face, so strange in color, then shift to the clock on the dash. “I should go. Get started so I’m not trying to hammer down shit at night. That didn’t work out so well for me before.”

His words are like a hand pushing me away. This is it. Just go.

“Okay. Yeah, sorry.” My voice catches, but I hide it with a quick cough.

I step back after closing the door, my eyes following his truck as he backs out of the driveway. Dust hovers an inch above the dirt road behind him, settling after a few minutes.

Yeah, I stand there for minutes, thinking he’ll actually come back. Believing he’ll realize he forgot to tell me he loves me too.

Hope is a funny thing. Even when you think you have none, it refuses to lie down quietly. In the darkest moments of my life, I’ve always had hope. Why would I expect any different now?

The house is empty, the curtains pulled, keeping out the vibrant sky. Hattie and Danny are gone, most likely at the bar. I pack like a hurricane ripping through the house. Bed made, quilt neatly tucked in at the corners, leaving it just like I first saw it weeks ago.