Page 83 of The Way I Used to Be
He reaches out to touch my face, my hair maybe, I don’t know—I can’t help but flinch away from him. “Jesus, Edy, you’re not—you’re not scared of me, are you?”
“Yes.” I hear the word exit my mouth and my heart freezes. Because it’s the truth. His mouth drops open. “I mean no.” I try to fix it, try, I try but it’s too late. I’m shaking, my fingers fucking tremble. Christ. “I meant no. I’m not scared, I’m just”—I’m trying but I can’t breathe, like I have bricks on my chest—“just so...,” and suddenly, “so... fucking...,” and I’m crying, “tired.” There’s no way to hide it. “I’m just tired, okay?” I blather. “So. Fucking. Tired. And I don’t feel like having some big fucking conversation, that’s all!” I cry out, near screaming, near hysterical.
He says nothing. I cover my eyes. I’m crying with my whole body and all I want to do is disappear. I feel his hand hesitate, hovering over my back, then rubbing awkward circles, and then his fingers in my hair. If he’s saying anything, I don’t hear. All can I hear is my blood rushing and my heart drumming in my ears. A pulsing in my throat, like there’s a big jumbled ball of words stuck in there dying to get out. He puts both arms around me. But I feel suffocated. Don’t want to be held. Don’t want to be touched. Not by anyone ever again in my entire life.
I crunch my teeth together to keep myself from screaming. Screaming in general, screaming at him to get his hands off me, screaming for help, screaming because I can’t make sense out of anything that is happening, has happened, will happen. Screaming because I still feel like I’m back there, always back there, in my heart I’m still that girl. I clench my fists tight and tell myself:No more tears, stupid fucking baby.On three, go. One, two,push. Push my body. Push him. Push, just push. Three. I break out of his arms like an explosion. He stumbles backward. But I’m free.
I’m walking away.
He grabs the sleeve of my coat. “Edy, come on.”
I snatch my arm away from him the second I feel his hand on me. “Don’t touch me!” I only realize I’ve screamed it as my words echo back at me, reverberating against the trees and the dark and the cold. He looks around, panicked, thinking maybe the neighbors are going to hear.
“Don’t be mad,” he says, reaching for me again.
“I’m not mad, just don’t—don’t touch me, okay?” My words shake as they hit the air, my mouth never having demanded such things before.
He holds his palms out in front of his chest. “Fine, fine, I’m not.”
We stand there, staring at each other.
“So what happens now?” he asks.
“You go in. I leave.” I try to be stoic about it, try to pretend I didn’t just have a total meltdown in front of him.
“I mean what happens with us?” Us. God. I can’t answer that question, and I think he knows it too because he changes his face, his tone, and asks instead, “Look, are you okay?”
“I really have to go, Steve,” I say impatiently, careful not to look him in the eye.
“Okay. So we’re okay—we’ll talk tomorrow?”
“Sure.”
“Okay. I’ll call you tomorrow.” He tries to smile.
I try to smile back.
“Wait—I want you to know, Edy, I would never hurt you.” He leans in slowly and brushes his lips against my cheek softly.
“Okay,” I whisper, terrified—more terrified than I’ve been in a long time, of anything or anyone.
“Okay,” he says. “Well, good night.”
“Good night,” I repeat, moving away from him.
“EDEN?” MOM KNOCKS ONmy door, tries to turn the knob. I open my eyes; pray it’s all been a dream. I fumble for my phone. One forty-three p.m. I’ve been asleep for fifteen hours. Ten missed calls.
“Yeah?” I moan, trying to scroll down the list: Mara, Mara, Mara, Steve, Cameron, Steve, Cameron, Steve, Steve, Steve. Shit. Shit. Shit.
“Eden!” she calls again.
“I said yeah!” I shout. Don’t make me get up, Vanessa. Please.
“I’m not going to holler through the door!” she hollers through the door.
I drag myself up, dust myself off, whatever, shove the sleeping bag under the bed and throw my pillow on top. Unlock my door.
“You have a visitor,” Vanessa whispers, tight-lipped, “some freaky-looking guy.”
