Page 93 of The Way I Am Now
“I feel like you’re the one shutting me out right now,” I tell him.
He squints at me. “How amIshutting you out?”
“You, like, clearly aren’t interested in having sex with me,” I mumble as I pull my sweater back on over my head and shove my arms through the sleeves. “What, am I too sad and pathetic?”
“No, who said anything like that?”
“Too damaged? Too messed up?” I continue, gaining steam. “What, tainted?”
“Hey!” he says, his voice stern. “You know that’s not what I think.” He pauses, his chest moving in and out as he breathes heavier. “Don’t put words into my mouth—that’s not what we—we don’t do that.”
“Well, I feel like you’re rejecting me or something.”
I climb over him to get out of the bed. I walk to my dresser, have the urge to take one of my pills. Then I have the greater urge to open up the top drawer and sweep them all inside, close it up tight.
“I’m not rejecting you; I’m just not going to have sex with you when I have no idea where your head’s at right now. I’m worried about you, okay?”
I look over at him, sitting there, so in control of his emotions, so perfectly rational all the time, always doing the right thing. I sit down in my desk chair, try to slow my racing thoughts, try to calm myself, try to feel the chair under me, feel my feet on the floor.
“I know, I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry,” he says, moving to the edge of the bed, reaching for my hands. “I just feel like I’m in the dark here.”
“I don’t want to talk about the hearing.”
“Okay.” He reaches for the arms of the chair now and pulls me toward him so we’re facing each other. “That’s fine, just tell me how you’re feeling, then?”
“I feel . . . ,” I begin, closing my eyes, letting him take my hands again. “I feel like . . .” I search my brain for anything, a concrete thought, a fleeting image. “A pumpkin,” I tell him.That’s stupid.
“A pumpkin?” he asks. He draws his eyebrows together like he’s not sure if I’m being serious or joking. I don’t really know at this point either.
“No, not a pumpkin, but like a jack-o’-lantern. You know?”
“Okay,” he says, nodding.
“Like someone drew a face on me and carved it into my skin. Scooped out my insides. Just hollowed out, everything scraped clean. And then lit a fire in me and left me out in the cold. And I just . . .” I stop because I’m hearing myself and I feel my mouth twitching, like I could either start bawling or laughing, and I don’t know which. Because I don’t know if I’m being ridiculous or if this is actually the perfect sloppy metaphor for the way I feel right now.
“And you what?” he asks, giving my good hand a tiny squeeze.
“And I just, I don’t know, want to feel human again,” I finish. “As soon as possible.”
His eyes get really deep as he watches me. And then his beautiful mouth just sort of collapses at the corners. He stands and pulls me up out of the chair too. Holds me close, pressing my face against his chest, kissing my hair.
JOSH
As we stand in the middle of her room, I can sense it—that hollowed-out feeling—coming out of her and crawling into me.
“I’m so sorry,” I whisper because I don’t know what else to say.
“You didn’t do anything,” she mumbles into my shirt, hugging me back like somehow she knows I might need her arms around me right now just as much as she needs mine.
“I’m still sorry.”
“Don’t feel sorry for me, Josh.” She looks up at me, her eyes so full and open. “Please.”
“No, it’s not that I feel sorryforyou. I just feel sorry that you’re having to go through all this. It’s not fair. And I wish I could do something to—to help or to make it easier.”
“You do help, though.” She sets her head against me again. “You do make it easier.”
