Page 36 of Breathing Wisteria
That I can never be okay again.
Finally, I push away, putting some much-needed space between us.
“I’m sorry,” I rasp out. “I’m fine, you didn’t need to come over. You caught me at a bad moment.”
He follows me deeper into the apartment and then stands still, watching me intensely as I move to the bathroom and wash my face with cold water.
I take a fortifying breath and then walk back toward him, attempting to project a hell of a lot more confidence than I’m feeling right now.
“You have many bad moments like that?” he questions with a raised brow, and I don’t know why, but I feel judged.
“You’ve never had a bad day? Christ, Flynn, I just needed to cry it out. Nobody asked you to come rushing over like some kind of fucking white knight.” I prowl around the room, unable to keep still, and I feel his eyes on me with every step I take.
“Fair enough. Do you want to talk about whatever it is that you needed to cry out?” His voice is gentle, and it strikes me that this is the Flynn who was by my side in the days, weeks, and months after we lost our baby girl.
It makes me want to lash out. It’s not fair and it’s not okay, but I want to hurt him. Because he still gets to have that one day.
He’ll meet the woman he’s destined for and they’ll create the life that was supposed to be mine. A life with love and babies, art and music.
He’ll be happy and while any other day I would tell you that’s what I want for him, right now I want him to feel a tiny fraction of the misery I have to live with.
“Let’s see, do I want to talk about the fact that one of my best friends is having a baby? Hmmm.” I tap a finger on my chin in an exaggerated gesture. “Ya know what? No, I don’t, but thanks for asking.”
“Ah, fuck.” He moves toward me, but I sidestep him and move to the kitchen. I feel him follow me, watching as I pull a bottle of vodka out of the refrigerator and grab a glass from the sink.
“It’s okay to be angry, no one would blame you.”
“Well, gee, thanks for that insight.” I slam the drink down, enjoying the burn of the straight alcohol.
I storm back past him and suddenly all I can think about is getting out of this apartment. But of course, I can’t. Because of him.
I turn around and face him. “I want you to go. Leave, now.”
He leans back against the wall, not even slightly conflicted.
“I’m not going anywhere, Cherry.”
“Yes, you are. Now!” I raise a hand and point to the door somewhat hysterically.
He pushes himself off the wall, frustration rolling off him in waves.
“Talk to me!” he yells. “If anyone understands this, it’s me, so talk. To. Me.”
“You think you understand?” I snort out an ironic laugh. “You don’t understand shit.”
“I lost her too, Wyatt.” His voice is low and gravelly, full of pain. “You don’t have a monopoly on grief. I have to live with it too.”
I close my eyes and shake my head emphatically, tears biting behind my eyelids.
“It’s not the same,” I scream, losing all pretense of control. “You can have another baby. You can have a hundred babies if you want.” I point a finger at him aggressively. “So don’t tell me you understand. You understand nothing.”
“Wyatt.” His voice calm and he walks purposefully toward me, his hands landing on my upper arms and squeezing gently. “You will too. We’ll get our family. It might take us longer than we thought it would all those years ago, but you will hold our baby in your arms one day.”
His words are meant to comfort me, but instead they steal the fight from me and I sag into his arms in defeat.
“No, I won’t,” I whisper. “Because I can’t have children anymore.”
