Page 80 of I Almost Do

James reaches out to hold me, but I back away. Because that would be too easy. I could let him wrap me in his arms and soothe me, and then tomorrow absolutely nothing will have changed.

He shakes his head. "It doesn't matter. We can start sleeping together now. We'll share a bedroom now."

"And are you happy about that? Because, I have to be honest, you don't look happy."

He says nothing.

"If I stay, could we talk about this? If not me, then a professional maybe?" I hold my breath, waiting. Hopeful. I can't bear to see him so unhappy.

"Jesus Christ, I don't need a therapist. I'm fine. We're fine," he spits.

I close my eyes. And I rest there in the dark, with my heart in my fist. When I open my eyes, James’s fly wide, and he gives a violent shake of his head.

"I'm leaving," I say, "and you're going to work through your issues. Or you're not. That's up to you."

"You can't," he says, head still shaking. "You've never lived alone. You'd be on your own out there."

"I am."

His brows are furrowed, and his jaw is tight. His blue eyes burn me from beneath a thunderous scowl. "Don't you fucking do this."

The words are a warning. But this is James; he'd never make me stay.

I’m scaring him right now. I’m hurting him. And I don’t ever, ever want to do that. I want to fix everything. Smile and say I’m happy with whatever he thinks is best.

But I can’t.

If he won’t get help, there’s no version where I stay and we don’t hurt.

My heart is bleeding through my fingers. I tore it out of my chest all by myself. "I still love you. I'll always love you. I promise," I say.

The movers arrive the next day. I don't take much, really—mostly just clothing and personal items. I take every present James ever gave me, except Mr. Flootlepus. I leave him with James. He loves that cat, and I can't bear to see him alone.

At the front door, James stops me as I'm about to go. "Text me when you get there."

I've thought about this. A lot. "I don't think that's a good idea. We’ll keep in touch on an as-needed basis for a while."

"What the fuck, Clarissa?" The words are almost a whisper.

I don't answer, I just lean up to kiss his cheek. And then I go.

31

If the World Was Ending

Clarissa

I miss James. It's a dull, aching pain that never leaves. Sometimes it spills over into agony, and for a while, I can't breathe.

But I carry on. I've had lots of practice leaving him. What I haven't had is practice living without him.

Every day, I almost text him. Sometimes about something silly. Sometimes something serious. It's almost muscle memory at this point. I'll catch myself with my phone in my hands and his contact pulled up before it registers that I'm supposed to be giving him space.

I hope time and distance will allow him to separate the Clarissa he loves from the Clarissa he feels responsible for.

He tries to text every few days at first, but I ask him to give me more time. So we settle into a monthly check-in. Every month, he texts.

James: Do you need anything?

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