Page 41 of Don't Leave Me

“Hey,” he released me a little, looking down at me as he rested his hand gently on my cheek.

I looked up at him through my tearful eyes – I must have looked like a hysterical child. He smiled sweetly at me and wiped away my tears with his thumb.

“Don’t ever be afraid to tell me anything, Hana. All I want to do is take care of you and make sure you’re happy,” he said gently, his hand still on my cheek.

Oh my god. It suddenly hit me –I love him. I love this man.The irony was that I was too afraid to tell him.

“Do you think I’m crazy?” I mocked myself, making him laugh.

“No, Hana. You drive me crazy, but I don’t think you’re crazy,” he answered with a smile.

I bit my lip…that’s a good answer.

“Come here,” he said quietly, planting his lips against mine, giving me the soft, tender sweet kiss again that made my whole body tingle.

“Let’s get inside,” he took my hand and guided us back into the house.

11

Chapter 11

Everything felt easier after mine and Michael’s little chat. It felt like a ton of bricks floated away from my chest and I could breathe again; Michael knew pretty much everything he needed to know about me. I mean, there were still little things that I was sure we’d learn about each other, but we finally got the big stuff out of the way. The night continued on with Emily sticking close to me, making me laugh and entertaining Michael. By the time relatives started to leave, it was 9 PM and the ones that stayed were drunk and happy, Emily being one of them. Michael stopped drinking when I did, so we snuggled on the couch in the living room while we watched my family with amusement as they watched football and told drunken stories about each other.

“So, what’s the difference between type one and type two bipolar disorder?” Michael asked curiously and quietly.

Ah, he wants to know more. I guess that’s fair enough.

I explained to him about the differences between hypomania and mania, and how I cycle through episodes more frequently and tend to get more depressive episodes. I also explained why I couldn’t drink coffee or alcohol and not getting enough sleep and all that; he seemed concerned as he asked me why I risked it in the first place.

“Sometimes I think I can defy the rules, or that I don’t really have bipolar. Sometimes I want to be hypomanic,” I shrugged.

He looked puzzled. “Why?”

“Because I feel like I can do anything. I’m more confident, more outgoing, more…creative,” I explained, trying to find the right words to explain.

“But you said so yourself…you always crash,” he raised his eyebrows.

I shrugged again. “It seems like it’s worth it at the time,” I thought aloud.

He put his hand on my thigh and smiled. “I like you the way you are now, Hana,” he assured me.

I smiled back, butterflies in my belly.Yep, I love this man.

We slept like logs that night; I was comfortable, content, grateful. The hours of rough, kinky sex before bed may have helped as well.

“Take your meds?” Michael asked as we packed up the next morning.

“Yes. You told me to, and the reminder you put on my phone told me as well,” I assured him.

I was half-annoyed, half-thankful that he cared so much about my health.

“Good girl,” he smiled at me playfully.

We agreed to head back to the city after breakfast; my mom prepared different types of pancakes for the family, her many choices of syrups and butters all laid out on the counter.

Emily and I sat at the counter and watched as everyone grabbed breakfast. “So what are you doing this weekend? Heading back to Philly?” I asked, wishing I had more time with her.

“Well, I was thinking…” Emily started, looking over at me with her sly dimpled smile. “I should probably stop in Brooklyn and hang out with you for a day or two,” she suggested with raised shoulders.

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