Page 40 of Don't Leave Me

“Fuck! I’m so sorry, Han. I should really learn to think before I fucking speak,” Emily took my hand, looking at me apologetically with her big dough eyes.

I shook my head quickly. “No, no. It’s fine, Em. It’s no big deal,” I assured her.

Emily frowned at me and let go of my hand, then looked over at Michael and smiled quickly, but probably not convincingly, at him.

“I just want everyone to know how thankful I am for each of you,” my mom said loudly as she sat down with her plate next to my dad; she was a little tipsy already. “Now dig in!” she laughed.

I played around with my food. I wanted to delay this eating thing as much as possible because I was sure Michael would drag me away and demand more answers from me. I could see him eyeing me every once in a while as I took small bites – he was finished before I even ate half of my plate. In fact, everyone finished before me and started to get up, getting more drinks and talking gleefully and loudly.

“Hana, you’re being ridiculous,” Michael said under his breath, his elbows on the table and his hands to his mouth as he waited for me to finish.

Yes, yes I am. I shrugged and smiled to myself. Why was this so amusing to me?

He finally turned to me after another few minutes of me eating excruciatingly slow. “Alright. Let’s go for a walk,” he exhaled sharply.

“I’m not done,” I widened my eyes to him.

“Yes you are,” he sighed and stood up, taking my plate and putting it in the sink with all the others.

I sat still and watched as my uncle Rob chatted quickly with him, both of them laughing, but I couldn’t hear what they were saying. Michael came back to me and held his hand out, waiting for me to get up. I was scared shitless again – he looked really annoyed.

“Now, Hana,” he said sternly, waiting for me to take his hand.

I sighed and took his hand and we walked quickly to the foyer where Michael handed me my jacket and put his on as well. He took my hand again as we walked out the front door, the cold late-November evening biting at my cheeks. We were halfway down the driveway before Michael spoke.

“Do you not trust me, Hana?” Michael looked down at me with sad eyes.

I suddenly felt like a piece of shit.

“I do trust you,” I defended, my heart dropping to my knees.

“Then why won’t you tell me?” he went on, his voice soft.

I sighed. Might as well be honest with him.

“Because I’m afraid you won’t like me anymore,” I admitted, lowering my head.

It was a fair enough assumption. The term “bipolar” in our society was a bad word – it was so stigmatized and people thought you were crazy, that you were sick.

Michael stopped walking and turned to face me. He grabbed my hands and gave them a little squeeze.

“I don’t think that’s possible, Hana,” he assured me, his eyes making me swoon again.

Fine. He deserves to know.

Tears started welling up in my eyes. “I take medication for type two bipolar disorder,” I said quietly, looking down at our hands.

Michael furrowed his brows, shaking his head. “Is that all, Hana? That’s what you were afraid to tell me?” he asked lightly.

I shrugged.Did he not hear me?

“Oh, my sweet Hana,” he quickly wrapped his arms around me, holding on tight.

I felt a wave of relief flood through me – so much so that I started to bawl hysterically.

“Hey, baby. It’s alright, it’s alright,” he continued to hold me, lightly stroking my head.

I held onto his waist snugly, burying my head into his chest. I made such a big deal out of this, didn’t I? I was being ridiculous for nothing.

---