Page 142 of You're The One
I toss it back on the nightstand, concluding that I can hold off punishing myself for one more day.
Tomorrow will be better.
A soft knock sounds at the door the next morning—or afternoon, I’m not sure—followed by Hannah’s voice. “Can I come in?”
No isn’t an acceptable answer, so I say, “Sure.”
She sets a glass of water on the nightstand and adds another granola bar to the growing pile.
“How’re you feeling? Mind if I sit?”
She doesn’t wait for me to answer, just climbs onto the other side of the bed and leans back against the headboard.
“Your brother’s worried,” she starts.
I roll toward her on my side. “Tell him not to.”
She shakes her head, smiling softly. “Do you know him?”
I return her smile, but laughing feels just out of reach. “You’re right.”
“Talking might help,” she murmurs.
Will it?
Even that feels like it would take too much energy. I don’t feel sad exactly, more numb. All I want to do is sink deeper under the covers and hope the next nap will cure me. That the feeling will pass, at least enough to gain a little momentum.
This isn’t the first time I’ve felt this way, obviously. But it’s been a while since I’ve sunk this low. Even when I had a momenta couple of weeks ago in the house, I managed to pull myself out of it.
This feels… different.
And I can’t figure out why.
I can’t help but think it’s because I lethimget too close. Relied too much on another person. I spent twenty-two years avoiding that, and now…
Of all people to get through my walls.
“Have you called your therapist?” Hannah interrupts my spiral.
“Yeah. I’m talking to her in a couple of days.”
I will not cancel. I will not cancel. I will not cancel.
“What can I do?” Hannah asks, her voice unsure.
This is the part I hate most: the concern on someone else’s face, the guilt for being the reason, the weakness of not being able to fix myself.
“I ruined it,” I finally whisper.
Hannah scoots down, lying on her back beside me. I’m glad she doesn’t turn toward me; if she did, I’m not sure I’d be brave enough to continue.
“I didn’t tell him something I should have. And I couldn’t even explain why… I don’t think I understand it myself.”
“You really like him.” It’s not a question. Andlikemight be an understatement at this point.
I nod.
She rubs my forearm, though I barely feel it through the thick comforter.
