Page 69 of Built to Fall
He knows the vague pieces: my mom, the breakup, and the fact that I don’t sleep much. But not the way it all connects. Not how one betrayal rewired the way I process closeness. How sleep feels less like rest and more like a dare.
“Why do you care?” I ask sharply, not being able to help myself.
I’m not exactly the poster child for being the most emotionally intelligent. My feelings usually arrive in sharp bursts I don’t always understand, like a weather forecast I forget to check.
With that being said, I’m not good at understanding other people’s emotions either. I can’t comprehend why Grant would care about whether something happens to me. Not when I’ve brushed him off the way I have.
I can only assume he has his own reasons. Ones that aren’t for me to know.
“It’s hard for me to not to,” he says, running his hands through his messy brown hair. “I tend to be a worst-case scenario type of person.”
I keep my eyes on him. “Why would my worst-case scenario be your responsibility?”
He stiffens. “Because if there’s something I can do to help—to keep it from happening—then I want to. I’m what most people would call adoomsday prepper. I try to do as much damage control as possible. And if I’m being truthful, I’ve been tearing myself up over what happened to you.”
My face downturns. I can see it now. The way he reacts in every situation is equivalent to someone who is desperately trying to keep people out of harm's way.
The glass on the kitchen floor. When I was puking in his backyard. Him fixing our laundry shelf.
Me passing out and seizing in front of him must have been his worst nightmare.
It makes me feel guilty, but I also can’t push past my own issues to take up his offer. I know what it’s like to need somebody in my most vulnerable state, and that’s not a position I’m willing to put myself in again.
“I don’t need you to do damage control on my behalf.”
“Too bad. I’m not going to stand by and let you work your body to the bone again and again when I’ve already witnessed it happen once.”
“It’s not your job,” I say stubbornly.
“I’m not asking for a job. I’m asking for you to let mehelp. Just like I did on Halloween. Why can’t you accept that?”
This conversation is going in circles, and I can’t stand it. This has already been tough for me, trying to understand Grant’s perspective and not completely disregard his feelings.
But it’s glaringly obvious that he will continue with the same point, drilling it into the ground over and over again, no matter what I respond with. He wants everything to go his way. I’ve known this about him.
Which is why I stand up from the couch and walk into my bedroom. “Goodnight, Grant.” I have no problem being avoidant of conversations I want no part of.
I start my nightly routine of pretending that I’m getting ready for bed. I change into pajamas. Brush my teeth. Wash my face.
And once I’m safely under the covers, staring straight up at the ceiling while I try not to let the floodgate holding back all of my overwhelming thoughts collapse, there’s a knock at the door.
I don’t even say “come in” before it’s creaking open, which gives me a good indicator that it’s probably one of the girls.
“Lina?” Kara’s voice whispers through the dark.
I sit up slightly. “Yeah?”
She steps further into the room, shutting the door as I turn on my bedside lamp.
“Are you actually going to sleep, or just pretending because Grant is making himself comfortable on our couch?” Kara sits on the foot of my bed.
“What do you think?” I ask, leaning back against my headboard.
“I think what you’re doing isn’t working, and if he’s offering to help you, you should let him.”
“What is he going to do to help me sleep? Knock me out?”
“Well, if that’s all it would take, thenIcould do that,” she jokes before her face sobers again. “I’m being serious, Lina. Ifit’s worked once, it seems realistic to try it again. It’s bad enough that you went to the hospital out of pure exhaustion. Do you seriously want that to happen again?”
