Page 45 of Perfect
It’s all going to befine.
***
When I wake up, Alex is gone. I shoot out of bed, panicking, until I remember to check my phone. She and her running shoes and wallet are moving slowly across town. It’s Sunday, her long run. I’m surprised she can run with how hungover she must be, but I’ll take care of her later.
I make the bed and take a bath, checking my phone occasionally to see where she is. She takes the bus out to Warrenton, running through Fort Stevens to the beach. I change into fresh clothes and spend time putting all the cash back, replacing the ring and the ID before driving out to the beach and looking for her.
I find her on top of a dune, surrounded by swaying beach grass. Her eyes are closed, and her pale, sweaty face is turned up to the weak sun filtering through the clouds, a half-empty plastic water bottle in her hand.
Part of me doesn’t want to approach her, doesn’t want to see how her face will change when she sees me, but I walk up to her anyway. I sit beside her, leaning back on my hands and watching her, longing pooling in my stomach as she refuses to acknowledge me. I want her to look at me, to smile at me, to be happy to see me.
It’ll happen, I just need to be patient.
She’s still adjusting.
“How’d you find me?” she asks as she finally opens her eyes and looks at me. I can’t discern her expression, but it’s certainly not happiness or affection.
I lift the back of my hand to her clammy forehead, ignoring her flinch. “How are you feeling?”
Her lips turn down into a tiny pout. “I vomited twice.”
“Maybe you should take it easy today. Let me take care of you.”
“What do you mean bythat?”
I shrug. “Parking you on the couch, putting on a show you like, making sure you drink water and eat something, maybe keeping you away from wine?”
She scoffs. “Then you’ll give me back my phone and go home, right? It’s Sunday, and I need to get ready for work tomorrow.” She’s trying to seem normal, but her eyes are sharp, and I know she’s going to run. I sigh, knowing I need to let her. “I’ll see you soon, I’m sure,” she says, her voice placating.
She’s going to see me a lot sooner than she thinks.
“Yeah, sweetie. Whatever you want.” I can see her relax a tiny bit, giving me a small, forced smile, but there’s no warmth on her face, nothing but apprehension and determination.
This is going tosuck.
***
I try to take care of her, but she’s despondent. She lays in bed, facing away from me, barely acknowledging me. I leave her house at four, heading home and pulling up the camera feeds. She waits about twenty minutes after I leave before moving quickly, changing all her clothes and leaving everything but the cash, the ring, and the ID.
She wears my sweater, which makes me feel a little better about having to do this. It’s a thread of connection she can’t see yet, but it lets me know we’re still on the right path.
I debate whether to head her off at the bus station or let her get her to Portland before I stop her. Letting her leave Astoria will make her feel like she tried, but stopping her in Portland will dissuade her from trying again.
I feel like such an asshole for thinking about it like this, because I’mnotthis guy.
I drive to Portland, anxiety churning in my stomach as I park a block away from the train station, thinking about how wrong this could go. I slip inside the station, staying out of sight while waiting for the bus to arrive. I hate that she thinks she needs to do this, and I hate that she’s going to be so upset with me when I stop her.
Alex doesn’t see me as she gets off the bus, even though she’s glancing around quickly, more observant than I’ve ever seen her. I duck back so she doesn’t see me as she enters the train station and heads for the ticket counter, walking as quickly as she can without running. I catch up to her, and she jumps and whirls around when I gently grab her arm, looking devastated when she sees me.
This is not going well.
“Hey, don’t worry. It’s just me,” I say softly. She lets out a short, sharp exhale and closes her eyes, her face contorting as she starts to cry quietly. I pull her into a tight hug and kiss the top of her head, trying hard to keep my shit together as I turn her away from the ticket counter and lead her out of the station.
She doesn’t say anything, doesn’t scream or fight me the way I was worried about. Instead, she lets me lead her back to the car, crying quietly the whole time. I try to stay calm enough for both of us as I start driving, but it’s hard when I see tears running down her cheeks as she stares blankly ahead.
I need to fix this.
“Sweetheart, I’m sorry you felt like you had to do this,” I say quietly, but she doesn’t respond. “I know you’re upset and overwhelmed right now, but I also know this isn’t just about me.” She jerks, staring over at me with wide eyes. “I don’t know what happened to you before you came here, but I want you to know that you don’t need to run from me. I can make everything better if you just talk to me, I promise.”
