Page 79 of Don't Leave Me

“You look exhausted. Sit,” he pointed over to the couch.

I nodded, still out of breath. “I need water,” I pointed to my throat.

Michael immediately stopped what he was doing and opened the fridge, grabbed a pitcher of water and poured it into a glass.

“Thank you,” I smiled as he handed it to me, then took a swig of the water while making my way to the couch, downing almost all of it.

“I was worried about you. I woke up at 7 and you were gone. By 8:30, I thought you’d ran away,” he smiled to me from the stove, resuming his cooking.

He’s not even upset with me? What’s going on here?

“I should have called. I got lost in running; it felt like only an hour had passed,” I shrugged, smiling innocently at him.

He nodded, grabbing a plate and putting food on it. He came over to me and handed me a plate full of eggs with a piece of toast and some strawberries;he is being extremely nice to me. Is this how it’s always going to be living with him?

“Thank you,” I grinned at him as he sat next to me, crossing his legs towards me.

He eyed me with his loving gaze, the one only reserved for me.

“How are you feeling this morning?”

“I feel good,” I shrugged, taking a bite of toast. “I feel really good. The run was really nice. There’s so many people out before 7 AM, it’s kinda crazy. I mean, I guess I knew people were out that early but it felt weird to like, be out there with them,” I babbled, realizing that I was talking too fast and too much as Michael eyed me with amusement;yeah, it’s here.

“Hmm,” he nodded, seeming interested.

“I know I’m kinda speedy right now,” I laughed loudly. “It’s just the adrenaline from the run. It’s not hypomania,” I tried to assure him.

But I was lying. Of course it was hypomania – the run just fueled it even more. All signs pointed to it: I had racing thoughts, I was talking quickly, I felt so, so, so much better than usual, I was turned on and excited just by looking at Michael: hypersexuality. And a big change in my life had just happened, which was the perfect trigger for it; I moved in with Michael and that was a huge deal.

Of course, Michael raised his eyebrows at me in that knowing stare that he gave me.

“Adrenaline?” he questioned, unconvinced.

“Mhmm,” I nodded quickly, stuffing my face so I would quit talking.

He grinned at me and nodded. “If you say so,” he agreed with me.

I started to laugh again, feeling playful, and set down my plate on the coffee table in front of me.

“What? I’m serious!” I giggled, not sounding convincing at all.

Suddenly, Michael was actually serious. He gazed at me with concern, his eyebrows furrowed as he scratched the side of his beard. My foot was bouncing up and down on the ground nervously.

“Hana, you don’t have to be ashamed or try to hide it,” he said intently.

I shook my head immediately. “I’m not,” I defended.

I don’t know why I was in such denial. Maybe because I didn’t want my perfect boyfriend to realize how weird I really was. I knew within a few days I would be wanting to run around in the snow at 2 AM or stay up all night trying to write the perfect novel/paint a perfect piece of art or be wandering the streets with no real destination, seeing how far I could walk by foot. Michael would see the weird, hyper, strung-out, anxious part of me that was fun at parties but probably not the most fun to deal with as a girlfriend. Who knew what type of damage I could cause to our relationship by being impulsive and making reckless decisions?

Michael sighed after what seemed like 15 minutes. “Alright,” he finally let it go. “Let’s get ready for work then.”

“Wait,” I stopped him as he stood up, reaching for his hand. “I’m filthy,” I said innocently as I looked down at myself, putting my hands up.

I looked up at Michael through my lashes: he was giving me his sultry, mischievous grin.

“You are quite dirty, aren’t you?” he raised his eyebrows.

I nodded slowly. “Yes I am, sir,” I bit my lip.

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