Page 102 of Every Good Thing
She sees the worst of me instead.
“Fuck!” I yell. I can’t help it. I sink into the nearest chair, hiding my face in my hands. I’m flushed with anger on top of adrenaline and reeling with shame. I can’t even make a simple collar without falling apart. Tears blur my vision. A migraine threatens. I hear a voice, but not what she says. A gentle hand falls on my shoulder, but I jerk it away.
“Go!” I tell her.
She doesn’t move.
“I’m fine! Just go!”
She remains.
I make eye contact, no longer giving a fuck if she sees the mess I’ve become—it’s too late. “I don’t want you here!”
But she doesn’t leave.
Pain and frustration overtake me. I lean over, elbows to knees, face in my hands, hiding the rage that’s seeping from me in tears. I’m fucking sobbing. She’s never seen me like this. I’ve rarely been like this, and I hate it.
Hate myself. Hate that day. Hate so many days since. And my chronic hatred culminates into this—my wife rubbernecking my damn breakdown. I can’t take it.
“Please, Lena,” I beg, weaker now. “Please, go.”
I don’t look up, don’t want to see how I’ve hurt her again. Moments ago, she couldn’t have been prouder of me. I ruined it. Now, she sees the truth about me—weak, angry, deficient—and I can’t handle more of her disappointment.
The pressure compounds. I can’t keep on like this. Can’t do the fucking job I love. Can’t stay calm and controlled. Can’t be the man she needs.
I am defeated. Broken.
Alone.
Not alone. Her stomach grazes my head as she moves in front of me. Her delicate fingers slide over my shoulders, curling in an invitation. Testing me, inching me closer.
I latch onto her, and the dark thoughts recede. Tightly, so tightly. My face crushes to her soft stomach. Her fingers rake through my hair, nudging me even closer.
“Shit, Lena. I’m sorry.”
“Everything’s okay, Ben.”
Her words, her softness, and her acceptance unlock the aching tightness in my chest. I bury myself against her, hiding my tears but letting them come. It’s freeing and frightening at once.
I’m reminded of the night I came home after finding Adam, and she held me like this, accepting me completely in silence. Letting me hurt. Letting me feel. Why must I always be at my worst before opening up to her?
Time is lost on me—I don’t know how long we stay like that. But when her fingers softly massage my temple, I confess, “I don’t want this for you.”
“This is you right now. I want this for me. Always.” Her deep breath lulls me.
“It’s getting worse. Every day,” I whine. “It’s not fair to you.”
“You never need to worry about me. We’ve prepared for this, remember?”
I shake my head, dragging away from her. “No, we didn’t. Not enough. There’s no contingency plan for me falling apart.”
“You are going to be fine. I promise.” She sighs, her breath a warm blanket drifting over me. “You had a dizzy spell. It happens. You still kept everyone safe. You’re a hero—”
“No, I’m not.”
“Yes, honey. You are. You saved Jaye from being attacked, and Ruthie just got to see her dad take down a bad guy. You help people every day. And what you did for Adam—”
“Lena, I almost missed Adam.” The words fall from me like loose bricks tumbling down a wall and shattering between us. She holds my gaze, confused, but stays close, edged between my legs like she’s locking me in place. “I almost didn’t save him.”
