Page 32 of Unloved

“She is. Her son is dyslexic.” I had Dr. Fincher freshman year and loved her. So much so that I ended up joining the literary magazine staff first semester.

Freshman year I’d signed up for just about everything. Then Imet Tyler. He suggested dropping most of my extracurriculars so I could focus on my studies. And on our relationship. I trusted him, because he was older than me and smarter, and compared to his worldly life, I was a bit sheltered.

More accidentally than intentionally. Because I loved being at home. I loved my parents. And then when my dad…

Well, I didn’t spend much time out.

So I didn’t party, stuck to studying and spending every waking moment with my mom and dad. I’d gone to my dad’s alma mater. They’d offered a full scholarship and it was far enough away that my parents wouldn’t worry about me, wouldn’t stress themselves with trying to take constant trips to see me.

I was careful, too. I only told them about the good things, the successes. Because that is what they deserve—everything good.

The only problem is that I miss them. Every day.

“You okay?”

I blink, realizing I’ve zoned out completely.

“Um, yeah—”

As if zoning out in the middle of a tutoring session wasn’t enough for one day, tears start forming in my eyes, my chest tight.

“Oh fuck,” Freddy curses, stepping out of his side of the booth and sliding into mine, pressing me toward the corner. “What’s wrong? Did I say something that hurt you?”

Why he’s blaming himself, I can’t begin to figure out, but there’s a strange comfort to his presence that’s easing the loneliness of missing my family, a feeling that is always pressing down on me like a fathomless weight.

“T-this is s-so embarrassing,” I cry, rubbing at my eyes and shaking my head. “I’m sorry.”

“Hey, hey, hey.” He gentles his voice, a quietshhhsound pouring from his lips into my space. I’m nearly pressed to the wall, his large body expanded to form a wall around me, like he’s protecting mefrom the rest of the library so I can have my mental breakdown in peace. “Don’t apologize. I’m the one who should be sorry.”

“No.” I shake my head adamantly. “You didn’t do anything wrong.” I manage to calm myself down with slow, soothing breaths that eventually stanch the tears—enough that I can wait until I’m in the safety of my apartment shower to fully lose it.

“Sorry, I… I miss my family. I’m a little homesick,” I admit honestly. I’m embarrassed, but the last thing I want is for Freddy to think he’s done something to make me this upset, when he hasn’t done a thing wrong.

He leans back, his face relaxing as he nods and scans my face with his eyes again. There’s something genuine there now, an openness I haven’t seen from him before.

“I get it,” he says, voice calm and quiet. It’s deep, but soft in a way that has me almost leaning into him. “I… I miss my mom. A lot.”

I don’t say anything, and that seems only to relax him even more. Instead, we stay silent like this for a few moments longer. His arm is stretched across the table, shoulders broad and protective, cocooning me here. We aren’t touching, but I swear I can feel his warmth emanating off his skin. It feels somehow more intimate and comforting than any moment I’ve had before.

It’s shocking in a way, because I’ve never felt this in my intimate moments with Tyler, who rarely hugs me or holds my hand—which he considers to be displays of “pathetically desperate PDA.” Still, this is different from anything I’ve felt before, evenwithFreddy.

If I close my eyes, I can feel him wrapping his arms around me in the darkened living room the night he doesn’t remember. Part of me always thought this moment would never come again. The other part of me figured I’d have some kind of mind-melting breakdown if it did.

But I don’t feel overheated or unsure of how to respond. Instead, I feel… comforted. Truly at peace, with his arms holding space for me.

“You okay?” he finally asks, relaxing back.

“Yeah.” I nod. “We should probably call it a night.”

It isn’t even 6 p.m., but I’m pretty sure I’m on borrowed time before my actual breakdown. Stress is tightening my shoulders painfully; my neck aches and my entire body feels ready to give out on me.

“If you’re sure,” he says hesitantly. “We can stay here as long as you need?” It comes out as a question, like he’s unsure about the entire thing.

I shake my head. “I think I just want to go home.”

I sound more vulnerable than I planned, but it works to relieve the tension. He backs off, sliding out of the booth. We silently gather up our things. He walks me out into the parking lot, the sun still brilliant and gold, a beautiful warm evening.

And I still feel wrong, twisted up.

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