Page 54 of Stitch
“That takes a vote, right?”
He nodded, then pulled away from me, rolling onto his back beside me.
“Doesn’t matter though. I’m not gonna be around long enough to have that, so I’m not forcing you to wear my name. That shit’s permanent.”
Anger and sadness warred inside me, as I bit back what I wanted to say, and tried the gentle approach.
“What if I want to, Stitch?”
And what did my delightful husband say then? He huffed out a frustrated sound, and uttered a very firm response.
“No.” No? He said he wanted all these things, but he didn’t want me as his old lady? I was stunned by how much that hurt, that ‘no’. The way it was said in a harsh, abrupt kind of way. Was he just blowing smoke up my ass with all the other things he said? Did he just want what he could get for now, until I came to my senses and left him?
He said he didn’t want me to wear his name if he wouldn’t be around long enough, but was that really it? Or did he just not want to wear mine into the next life?
Twenty-Eight
Ithink we bothslept eventually, but we were both restless after that conversation, and I wondered if she felt as broken as I did when we both realised that we’d never have that. We’d never wear each other’s names with pride, we’d never belong to each other in that fundamental way that bikers and their old ladies did.
For the first time, I was irrationally pissed off at my one diseased nut, for the way it had destroyed my life, because before that, I had everything, didn’t I? Maybe not her, but look at how things had worked out. I’d have met her anyway, cancer or not, because she was the best friend of a brother’s old lady. We’d have met and we could have done this right. We could have been everything to each other, and instead we were just killing time together, until this damn disease finished me off.
What the hell was I doing to her? Dragging her into my shit? Forcing her to stay by my side, while I withered and died? I was a complete asshole.
I lurched out of bed and ran for the bathroom, pushing the door closed as panic suddenly started to overwhelm me, and I realised I’d messed up like never before, because I’d messed up her life too.
I couldn’t breathe. I felt like I was suffocating, and I clawed at my throat as I tried to drag air into my lungs. The fuck! I felt like I was fucking dying already. I dropped down onto the toilet seat as I gasped for breath, my stomach clenching as nausea started to swirl too, just to add an extra layer of terror to my entire situation.
“Stitch? Are you okay?” Fuck! I tried to answer her, but I couldn’t get any words out.
“Stitch? You’re scaring me. Are you ill? Do you need help?” Finally I reached out and grabbed the door, pulling it open a crack. There was a brief pause, before Camille took over and pushed the door further to poke her head in.
I met her eyes, but I was still fighting for air, and feeling even more like the biggest fucking pussy right now. Was there no chance of hiding even one side of my pathetic weakness from her?
“Hey, it’s okay, Stitch. You’re having a panic attack, that’s all. Just breathe for me. Slow… no, don’t take those tiny breaths, you’ll hyperventilate.” Hyperventilating. Yeah, I was already there, with dots swimming in my greying vision, as I felt tingling in my face and hands.
“Shhh… just slow down, one breath at a time, babe. You can do this. It’s okay. I’ve been there, and I know it’s terrifying, but it’ll pass, okay?”
She was stroking my face, and running her fingers through my hair as she tried to calm me. Her soothing touch was starting to get through to me, as I tried to put my focus there, rather than on my inability to breathe like a normal person.
My fucking heart was racing so fast, I’d even wondered if I was having a heart attack. A panic attack. A fucking panic attack. It was humiliating, because it was just another sign that I was too weak to be her man. She shouldn’t be looking after me, it should be me looking after her.
“Stitch, shhh… don’t hide from me. I can see you retreating, now you can breathe better. There’s no shame in this, do you understand?”
Camille tried to get me to look at her, but when I fought her gentle touch, she fisted my hair, and pulled back, and despite my shame, it brought my eyes to her face. Her pulling on my hair felt fucking amazing. And it was yet another distraction from my inner freakout, wasn’t it?
“The fact that you’re going through so much, and this is the first time this has happened, is incredible. The strength you show every fucking day, Stitch, is a testament to the man you are. You think you’re showing weakness, but it’s the exact opposite. You’ve been strong for so long, but sometimes you need to let it out. That’s how you stay strong.”
I closed my eyes, because I didn’t deserve her kindness, not after dragging her into my shitstorm of a life.
“I’m sorry.” Hey, look at that. I just made words, and I suddenly realised that I was breathing properly, and the tingles were starting to recede.
“Don’t be sorry, Stitch. Just please don’t hide from me when you need help. I’m your wife, and I want to be by your side for everything.”
My fists clenched, and almost felt as strong as usual.
“Yeah? I’m sure you’ll come to regret that soon enough.”
Camille sighed, pressing her lips against my forehead.
