Page 69 of Beneath Cherry Blossom Memories

What was he going to say? Does he want me to go with him? I don’t know if I should, but I’ll say yes if he asks. It’s ridiculous, but after what he told me earlier, I’m hungry for whatever scraps he’ll give me. I used to think I was just fine on my own, that all those bridges I burned didn’t matter because no one had ever had my back anyway. It was always up to me to make sure I survived whatever life threw at me.

Maybe Phoenix didn’t mean what he said to me last year.

We’re currently in some foreign state of tenuous trust. The wrong word or action could shatter it. If I use again, all those pretty words and this gentle understanding will disappear. And if he calls me an addict one more time, I don’t think I’ll survive it. Being the victim of his judgment fuckinghurtsalmost as bad as believing we might have a chance again.

I thought leaving was for the best. Both times, I figured he’d be better off. How can he stand to be with me when he hates everything I am? Do all of those moments we had not matter? The good stuff? The parts of our relationship I won’t get with anyone else? I get into his bed, holding my breath. I watch him strip down to his boxers before he asks the silent question.

Is this okay?

Wiggling over to make room for him, I flip on my side, half checking him out, half wishing he’d ask me something. Anything that goes deeper than superficial shit. I’m not keen to open up on my own unless I have no choice or it suits me, so I’m relying on him right now to pry some of the ugly free. Maybe he’s strong enough to shoulder some of its weight so I can stop crawling beneath him.

“Phoenix,” I whisper, finding his hand and squeezing it.

“I know,” he rasps, blinking hard. “I’m trying.”

For a moment, I consider just purging everything. Let it all out. But then what? Where will that leave me—us? Should we talk about our break up? Even as I think it, I wince. No. That’ll cause a fight. I think we both accept it for what it is. We said some horrible shit to each other. He rolls on his side to face me after a while, fingers stroking the back of my knuckles.

“I don’t know what to ask or how to word it right,” he tells me. “I want to be blunt but honest. Can I do that?”

His eyes flick to mine, and I hesitate. I’m scared of his bluntness. It’s almost worse than my own. Chewing my lip like bubblegum, I squeeze his hand tighter, needing to feel grounded and safe. Something clicks in his head because he slips his hand free of mine and tugs me to him. As soon as our chests are pushed together, his long arms holding me close, I relax. I breathe in his scent, shove my nose deep into his neck, and sigh.

“The last thing I want to do is hurt you again,” he starts, and I shove my leg between his. I’ll hide in his body if I have to. God, I feel so small. “I know that I have. Probably a lot. And…I’m sorry.”

“I hurt you too,” I whisper. “I shouldn’t have fucked it up.”

“We both did,” he says firmly, rubbing strong hands down my back. “But I’m taking the blame.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s my fault. I’ve known that to be true this whole time. It was easier to play the victim, easier to judge and be angry with you instead of accepting that I’m a shitty person.”

He’s not a shitty person, though. He’s kind and selfless. He’ll roll out his body like a floormat to be trampled over to avoid being ripped apart.

“Honestly, Eli, I think I have something wrong with me.”

I shake my head against his throat. “Nothing is wrong with you.”

“No, there definitely is. I can’t hide behind this bullshit excuse that I prefer not to talk. That’s never been true. I got so used to being isolated that I convinced myself it was my own doing.”

“Well, then, something is wrong with me, too,” I say softly. “My parents were addicts. And they say that shit is hereditary. I got it, too. I know I did. But if I say it and acknowledge it out loud, that means I’m just like them. I’m just fucking like them.”

“Hey,” he coos, pressing little kisses to the top of my head. “Shh, it’s alright.”

But it’s not.

This is what he’s been waiting for all this time. My admittance. My acceptance. To put it out there once and for all, he’s been right, and I’ve been lying through my teeth. White-knuckling the illusion that I’ve got it all under control, that mymedicineisn’t ruining my life. And now that I’ve hinted at it, spoken the fucking words, I’m going to lose him. I’ve just confirmed I’m exactly like his little brother.

God, I’m so weak. So pathetic.

I try to pull myself from his arms, but he doesn’t let me go. “Stop,” I growl, wiggling and grunting.

“Don’t shut down on me. Please,” he begs, nuzzling my thrashing head.

“I’m a drug addict,” I snap. “Isn’t that what you’ve wanted to hear this whole time? Well, you got it. Let me go!”

“No.”

“Phoenix!”

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