Page 80 of If Love Had A Manual

I step out back, needing the air to loosen the knot in my chest. Sitting on the top step of the porch, I rest my elbows on my knees. My hands are shaking, barely. Just enough to notice.

Breathe.

Just fucking breathe.

It’s been over a year, but it still doesn’t feel real. Every time I let myself laugh, let myself feel something good, it comes back like this. This tight, angry, suffocating thing that I can’t grab hold of. The panic. The guilt. The shame of not falling apart when they did.

I close my eyes and breathe through it.

In. Out.

In.

Out.

I wait for my chest to settle.

Because I can’t let them see me like this.

Especially not her.

Not Lena.

But because Lena doesn’t give a single damn about timing or boundaries or how quietly I’m trying to drown in it, she barrels right through it.

The back door creaks open, and I hear her before I see her. Her laugh is soft, but a little unsteady.

“What are you doing out here?”

I keep my eyes on the grass. “Just needed some air. It’s hot in there. Go back inside.”

“Uh-huh.” She doesn’t move. She doesn’t go back inside either.

Instead, she sits her ass down next to me.

I expect her to speak.

She doesn’t.

No deep questions. No probing.

Just silence.

Eventually, she takes a long breath and says, “Do you think birds ever look down at humans and wonder why we’re always walking around like we forgot our keys?”

The fuck?

She’s staring straight ahead, legs crossed at the ankles, hands folded in her lap like she didn’t just ask one of the dumbest things I’ve ever heard.

“What?”

“We’re always pacing, double-checking, patting ourselves like we’ve lost something. Birds just fly and look like they’ve got their shit together.”

I know what she’s doing. She’s talking me down without addressing the ache I’m carrying. She’s distracting me.

I shake my head, a small smile tugging at my mouth despite everything. “Were you never taught that silenceis golden?”

“Missed school that day.”

---