Thrive. Live. Be a badass.
No wait, that’s not it. I look at my other arm.
My struggles don’t define me. I do.
I have other new tattoos, but this is the one I wanted to be handy, like a cheat sheet.
“I’m hoping to keep my family,” I pause. “The Hades, the Deckers… It’s going to be hard not to see each other during reunions. I don’t want to lie to anyone, but I don’t want to pretend that we get along anymore.”
“We could be friends,” he says with hesitation.
I scowl. He snorts.
“Yeah, I guess I’m in no position to ask for anything, am I?” he asks but then adds, “You can’t blame me for trying.”
“I wasn’t lying when I said you were like an addiction to me. I craved you, but then afterward, you’d reject me. You stabbed my heart so deep that I felt like I was going to die. I couldn’t deal with the pain, and I used. When we were fucking at all times of the day, I was clean because I had you, my other drug. It was easier to be with you than to have to confront my emotions. You were like my haven but not in a positive way.” I draw circles in the air with my finger. “It’s a cycle, one I have to break. We have to set boundaries.”
He leans back in his chair, closes his eyes, and takes a few breaths before he opens them again. “I’ll do anything you need me to do.”
“What did you do right there?” I ask.
He shakes his head.
I bang his desk with an open palm. “Stop lying to me, for fuck’s sake. Even by omission. For once, be fucking honest with me—maybe with yourself.”
“There was a speech,” he says, clearing his throat.
I arch an eyebrow. “A speech?”
“After you went to rehab, Alex fucked up. The love birds broke up for a month. The day he came to grovel, I told myself, ‘I can do that. Once Z is out, I’m going to show him I can be better.’” He straightens himself, leans his arms on the desk, and intertwines his hands. “But see, I won’t take the chance and risk fucking up everything you built because of selfish reasons. I’m done taking, and until I can give back, I have to stay away.
“It hurts not being able to be who you need. I have never been able to be that person for you. It just dawned on me that I might never become that person. And what am I supposed to do now?” He takes a deep breath. “When I say that I love you, I mean it. I’ve never loved anyone as I do you—”
“Stop,” I interrupt him. “I can’t hear this.”
He shrugs. “Either you want me to be honest, or you don’t. I can’t do both. If you want me to make excuses to skip reunions because it’s easier, I’ll do it.”
I take a deep breath and shove my hands inside my pockets. He’s right. Either I’m ready to handle his emotions, or I stop this conversation. How ridiculous is this?
“You don’t have to do that,” I focus on what I can fix today. “They are your family too.”
“Well, I can use Tucker as my excuse,” he suggests.
My jaw twitches, and I can’t believe that I’m still jealous of their relationship, of the feelings he has for him. “You’re still holding onto him, aren’t you?”
He shakes his head. “It’s always been you, Zeke. He’s just a friend. I’m not going to try to convince you of anything. You can believe me or not. I’ve been like the kid who cried wolf for so long, I wouldn’t believe myself either. Neither one of us is in a good place to have this conversation. I don’t want to hurt you.”
I rub one of the beads of the mala prayer bracelet I wear on my left wrist. That sentence, It’s always been you. It’s loaded. I can’t handle those emotions while he’s right here. Maybe I’ll never be brave enough to listen to his truth because I might never trust him again.
“I guess you’re right. I shouldn’t have pushed you to tell me the truth.” I mumble.
“Are you going to be okay?”
“Eventually,” I respond. “And you?”
He looks at me and shrugs. I hate the unsaid words between us, but I leave.
What’s the point of learning the truth when he’s never going to live by it?
Chapter Eleven
Ethan
“I saw him,” I tell Dante, my therapist, as I make my way into his office.
“Okay, so our emergency meeting is about seeing ‘him.’ Now, if we can go into more detail, like who are you talking about and how did you feel, we can start your session.”
I pour myself a cup of hot water since he doesn’t believe in coffee. Who the fuck can survive on tea and hot water?
“I’m talking about Zeke.” I close my eyes as I mention his name. His presence in my office was unexpected and yet, welcomed. Is it wrong to say that he looked alive?
When I open my eyes, I’m back in my therapist’s office. Dante watches me intently as I sit and resume my conversation—more like my rant.
“He’s out of rehab and came to my office. It was way worse than I expected.” I tap my temple a couple of times, drink water pretending it’s coffee, and then continue, “I created this scenario in my head where I’d say, ‘Hey, I’m working on myself, I love you. He’d say I love you too and…’”
Nothing happened the way I planned. I couldn’t control the situation. I barely controlled myself. Remembering the conversation I had with Zeke only a couple of hours ago stirs another wave of anxiety. If it hadn’t been clear before, it is now. He doesn’t want anything to do with me. I’m upset with myself because I’m responsible for everything that went wrong between us.
“He hates me,” I mumble. “I knew he was leaving rehab today. I wasn’t expecting him to appear in my office this soon. All these months, I’ve been preparing for that moment. I wrote a speech, memorized it, and practiced it. He…”
I take a moment to breathe. I have no idea how to continue, just like it happened when Zeke was in my office. My thoughts have no focus. Not then, not now. I fixate on the questions that pop into my mind.
Was I ready for him? What am I ready to do?
I’m still disentangling the web of lies I created since I arrived in Seattle. Fifteen years of lies I’ve told myself and others. There’s nothing I can promise him. Not even that I’ll change because I’m still a work in progress. What if it takes me a lifetime to become who he deserves?
“I don’t deserve him,” I mumble. “I’ve known this for years, and yet, I still hold onto the hope that we might belong together.”
After throwing up a million words, I stop, lean my head on the back of the couch and close my eyes. “Did I waste the last eight months of my life?”
“You weren’t prepared to see him,” Dante concludes.
I lift my head, open my eyes, and give him an incredulous look. “What?”
“We’ve talked about consolidating your thoughts,” he explains to me. “You went from he visited me to I’m worthless.”
I finish the water, set the mug on the coffee table, and say, “Yes, I hated that I wasn’t ready to see him. I hated it,” I exhale the last two words.