Page 160 of The Secret We Keep
Her voice wobbles. “No, I’m sorry. Sorry for ever trusting you.”
As she strides past me, I reach for her hand, but I’m met with the full force of her palm.
My cheek stings. A flare of pain zips across my face, and the harsh sound echoes in my ears.
She stares at me for the longest time, both of us in silence, shocked by her reaction. She’s never done anything like that before.
Ever.
I’m not sure what my next move should be, but just as I’m about to open my mouth to tell her it’s okay, a tiny huff of air leaves her. She turns and strides towards the door.
She’s leaving.
Leavingme.
Walking away from everything because she doesn’t trust me.
The quiet sting of her creating distance fills me with dread.
She doesn’t understand.
“Morgan, you can’t leave.”
“I have to,” she stammers back, feet staggering as she dumps them into her shoes.
“You can’t.” My tone is urgent. Panicked. Stressed. She isn’t listening. She can’t hear me. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. What the fuck do I do?
Like an eruption that I have no control over, my lips part, and every single doubt that has plagued me and twisted my head over the past few months, pours out of me like a river bursting its bank.
I can’t control it.
Can’t stop it.
“You’re not well.”
Her feet stop, her fingers on the door handle; eyes turning scared, she twists her head to me.
She waits for the explanation she deserves.
I sigh heavily, knowing there’s no going back. “You’re sick, Morgan.”
Her eyes glaze over; something I’ve never seen happen before.
“Can you hear me, Morgan? You need help.”
You need help
Morgan
Sick.
You’re sick.
You’re not right.
You need help.
You need help.
