Page 25 of A Follow-Through in Faking
“Nothing, Santi. We’re having problems, but I’m not ready to talk about them yet. Once I know how I feel, understand how she feels, I’ll let you know,” Manu says, locking her feelings away from me.
Papá thinks she’s so perfect, that there is nothing she would ever need to improve on, but I disagree. Manu never asks for help. She always has to figure out how to deal with her feelings on her own. Meanwhile, I go to her for everything. When I first started feeling the symptoms of my depression, I went to her. I asked her what was wrong with me, why I was having all ofthose intrusive thoughts. Why my energy levels had dropped so drastically.
When I was first diagnosed with depression, Manuela and I started looking into coping mechanisms for me. One thing I personally gravitated toward, one thing that allowed me to silence my intrusive thoughts, was scrapbooking while listening to music. It was both picking up a new hobby and allowing me to set realistic goals I could accomplish. Half a page. One page if I was feeling energized enough to set that goal.
I didn’t go to therapy or on medication. It was Manu and I who found things that helped me. Plant-based treatments. Going on new adventures. Talking. A lot of talking. And while that may not help other people, it did wonders for me. I still have periods when my symptoms make getting out of bed nearly impossible, but they’re a lot more manageable than they used to be.
“You know you can always talk to me, Manu. I’m here for you,” I promise her, but she gives me a sad smile.
“I love you, Santiago, but you have to focus on more important things than my relationship. While Cata is fighting for her number one spot this season, you are defending yours. And all of that while faking a relationship. You need all your energy not to crack under the pressure. Maybe some of mine, too.”
Catalina is wearing a golden dress. It’s sparkly and tight and…
Fuck me.
She painted her eyelids in a glittery gold, too. Her lips are painted red, and she added some blush to the apples of her cheeks, making her glow.
My plan was to get out of the car and open the door for her, be a true gentleman, but I can’t feel my legs. The sight of her in that dress, which was somehow made to fit all of her curves perfectly, has me feeling lightheaded. And when she turns around to make sure the door of her apartment complex closes properly, revealing that the dress is backless, I feel even more so. Sucking in a sharp breath doesn’t help the tension building everywhere inside of me.
I wish someone would dump a bucket of ice-cold water on my overheating body.
“You know, it wouldn’t kill you to actually get out and open the door for me,” she says as she gets into the car. She reaches for my door, which opens upward instead of sideways, shutting it once more.
“I tried,” is the only answer I muster. She gives me a confused look but doesn’t ask me to elaborate.
“Try harder next time,cabrón. Would you let me open my doors if I was your real girlfriend?” I open my mouth to answer, but Cata keeps talking before I get a chance to. “The answer better not be ‘yes.’ I opened every single door for my ex-girlfriend because that’s how it’s done.”
“So why don’t you open my doors?” I challenge, but instead of smiling at my teasing, Cata rolls her eyes.
“Because I hate you far more than you dislike me.”
My heart sinks in defeat as I pull out of her apartment complex and onto the main road.
Silence lingers between us until I can no longer stand it. Until the question I’ve been meaning to ask for weeks finally bursts out of me.
“Why do you?” It’s long overdue to ask that question, and Charlie’s words continue to haunt me.
“I’m assuming you don’t know because that only makes you slightly stupid. If you know and are pretending it wasn’tyour fault, then you’re not just an asshole but also the most emotionally incompetent person I’ve ever met.”
What the fuck did I do?
“Hate you?” she asks to clarify, and I nod as my fingers wrap more tightly around the steering wheel. “Do you truly want to get into this before a party where we have to play people who are in love with each other?”
“I want to know why you don’t trust me to touch you. I want to know why the mere sight of me is enough to ruin your day. Most of all, I want to know how to fix that,” I rant, pointing at the street in front of us like it will give me all of the answers.
She waits until we’re all the way at the party venue, staring down at her hands as she answers my questions.
“You left me.”
Cata’s hate for me vanishes to reveal how deeply she’s hurting because of what I did.
“We were in the doubles finals, our school having made it to the top in the country because of us, and you left me to play a singles game,” she explains, making realization set in.
She’s right. I did do that. I had the chance to qualify for one of the biggest junior tournaments in Spain, and it was on the same day as our game. After I qualified, I didn’t really think about Cata or missing our match. I was too busy being selfish to remember, and then I blamed her for the tension that was suddenly between us. I was mad at her for not being happy for me, and she was disappointed in me.
Angry because I left her.
Catalina accused me of prioritizing my career over any goals we had as partners, and for the first time since I chose myself, I realize she’s right. I didn’t remember, didn’t even think twice about it, and I was so mad at her. So upset because she wasn’t happy for me.
