Page 26 of The Way I Am Now
He’s looking at me so intently, holding his breath, like maybe whatever he’s thinking he did is worse than what actually happened. “It’s not—it wasn’tthatbad,” I begin, and he leans in closer. “You just, like, sort of grabbed my arms.”
“Okay,” he says, expecting more from me.
“Pretty hard,” I add.
“Oh,” he breathes, his eyebrows squishing together.
“I mean, you were holding me down.Reallyhard.”
“Well, but I thought you wanted it like that.” He looks down at the rumpled sheets, the spot where we were lying as if he’s replaying it. “You were enjoying it, I thought?”
“I—I was,” I assure him. “Until then, anyway. I couldn’t move and I got really scared and I was trying to tell you to stop and I felt like you weren’t listening to me.”
“I did, though. I did stop. I stopped right away.”
I don’t remember that. I don’t remember him stopping. But then, I don’t really know what happened between that being-pulled-underwater feeling and jumping up, already mid– anxiety attack. “You did?” I ask.
“Of course,” he insists, taking both of my hands now. “Of course I did. I swear I stopped the second you said stop. You—you believe me, don’t you?”
“I believe you; I just can’t remember,” I admit, and I’m not sure which one of us is more upset by that realization. “It made me think of . . . what happened. I mean,hedid that too. Kevin,” I add, because DA Silverman told me I needed to practice saying his name with confidence and stop sounding so uncertain.
“Jesus, I didn’t realize,” Steve says, rubbing his forehead. “I’m so sorry.”
“I know. It’s—”
“But you know I would let you up. I mean, I didn’t even think I was holding you down that hard in the first place. I figured you could get up if you . . .” But his words fade as I shake my head. I think he’s only realizing right now how easily he could overpower me if he wanted to because he leans over my lap and kisses both my wrists in the place where his hands had been. When he sits back up, his eyes are shiny. “You know I wouldn’t hurt you or try to force you—”
“I know, I know that.” At least, my head knows that. My body hasn’t gotten the message though. “But at the moment, that’s not what I was thinking about.”
He nods and clears his throat like he’s about to say something else, but he hesitates before continuing.
“What?”
“I love you,” he says quietly.
I look down at our hands, and I feel this massive pressure climbing up the back of my throat. Last night I didn’t care about love, but this morning I have to care.
“You don’t have to say it back,” he adds. “But I do, I love you.” Every time he says it, I feel like he’s stabbing me in the heart. “I’ve loved you since Yearbook Club ninth grade, hell, probably even since middle school.”
“No, Steve,” I say, and I let go of one of his hands so I can rub the tears collecting at the corners of my eyes. “You don’t.”
“Don’t tell me how I feel,” he argues gently as he reaches up to touch my face.
“Okay, I won’t tell you how you feel, but can I tell you what I think?”
He nods.
“I think you love the person you knew back then, the person you believe I can become again one day. But that’s not the same as loving me the way I am now.”
“Edy, don’t say that. That’s not—”
“No, even that, Steve.Edy. I don’t want to be called ‘Edy,’ and everybody calls me that anyway. But I’m not her.” I can’t hold back now; I can’t do this halfway. “I’m not her and I—I don’t think I can do this anymore.”
“What are you saying?” he asks, biting his lip, like he’s afraid to let the words out. “Are you . . . ? You’re not breaking up with me?”
I nod, and he lets his head fall into his hands. I hate that this isn’t the first time I’ve made Steve cry. “I’m sorry.” I reach out but can’t quite make myself touch him. “I wanted this to work, I swear, I really did.”
He looks up at me with tears in his eyes. “It could if you tried,” he pleads.
