Page 94 of Call Me Anytime
“Han, I know it’s a lot, but you deserve it. You deserve this freedom,” he says, and I look up to find him smiling softly at me. But I don’t feel like smiling at all.
“Freedom?” I blurt out. “This doesn’t feel like freedom, Dom. This feels like ... I’m drowning. This feels like I’m suffocating.”
“Suffocating?” His head jerks back in surprise. “Hannah? What do you mean? I don’t understand. I thought—”
“Dom, this is too much,” I cut him off, shaking my head furiously. “This is wrong in so many different ways I don’t even know where to begin.”
“My helping you is wrong?”
“No,” I retort. “You going behind my back and arranging all of this without eventalking to mefirst was wrong.”
“Wait ...” He pauses and runs a hand through his hair. “You’re mad at me?”
“I’m more than mad, Dom. I’m disappointed. I’m hurt. I’m so ...” I trail off, not able to find the words.
“Hannah,” he whispers and reaches out for me, but I shove his hands away.
“I’m not some kind of pet project for you, Dom,” I spit. “I’m not some helpless little girl who needs her rich boyfriend to tap into his trust fund and save her.”
He just stands there, staring at me, his jaw outright gaping.
But I feel so angry and so betrayed and so hurt from the whole thing that I can’t stop myself from ripping up the stupid check in my hands. “I don’t want your money, Dom,” I announce as the pieces of the check fall to the hardwood floor of my kitchen. “I’ve been handling my own shit for a hell of a lot longer than most people have ever hadto do. I’ve been making sacrifices for what feels like my whole life. And you know what? I’m proud of myself for that. I’m proud of myself for everything I’ve managed to do for my mom.”
“You should be proud, Hannah. Of course you should be proud. You’re amazing.”
“So amazing that you think you need to step in and save me?”
“Hannah, that’s not why I did this,” he refutes. “I know you don’t need saving. I know you’re strong.So fucking strong.But that doesn’t mean that you don’t deserve to have someone by your side. Someone to help you out if they can.”
“This doesn’t feel like you’re being someone by my side. This feels like you’re being someone who thinks I’m weak and pathetic,” I mutter, staring down at the ground. “I’ve worked so hard for so many years. I’ve sacrificed so much.” I lift my eyes to his. “And you just come in here and write a few checks andpoof!Everything is solved? Do you know how demoralizing that feels for me?”
I actually feel the moment my body reaches a breaking point. I feel my heart crack in two, feel every nerve ending beneath my skin fraying into nothingness, and feel the instant my mind chooses self-preservation over everything else.
“Hannah, I—”
“No, Dom. I don’t want to hear it. In fact, Ican’thear any more.” I shake my head, stepping away from him and picking up his duffel bag that sits on the floor. I shove it into his chest. “I think you need to go. I think we’re done here.”
“We’re done?” he questions, outrage raising his voice a few octaves. “You’re breaking up with me?”
My heart cracks even more, creating a million tiny pieces inside my chest. Everything hurts—my heart, my mind, my body. But more than that, even looking at him right now is almost too much to bear.
“Dom, you obviously don’t know me at all if you think something like this was going to make me happy,” I whisper, but I also have to swallow hard against the tears that now want to pour out of my eyes.
“I can’t believe this,” he says, and his eyes are wide with such strong emotions that I have to avert my gaze. “I can’t fucking believe this, Hannah!”
“Well, believe it,” I snap back. “But do it while you’re leaving.”
“I see you’re struggling. I hear you tell me how you hate working that fucking phone sex job. And what was I supposed to do? Just stand here and do nothing when I could very easily do something? Is that what you wanted?” he challenges. “Hannah, I think you’re amazing. I think you’re the strongest person I know. You should be proud of everything you’ve managed to do for your mom. Hell, I’m proud of you for it every fucking day. But right now, all of that pride of yours is getting in your way.”
When I don’t say anything, he keeps going.
“You ever heard the story about the man in a flood praying to God for a boat?” he asks, but the question is clearly rhetorical, because he starts to tell it to me. “The waters are rising, and he prays to God for help. And while he’s waist deep in water, another man in a boat passes by him, telling him to hop on, but he tells him no. Tells him he’s already prayed to God to help him. So, the boat leaves and the water keeps rising.
“And when the water is at his neck, another man on a boat stops beside him, telling him to get on. But the man refuses again, saying he’s prayed to God and God will help him. The second boat leaves, and the water keeps rising until the man drowns, Hannah.He fucking drowns.And when he gets to heaven, he asks God,What happened?Asks him why he didn’t answer his prayers, and you know what God says?” Dom runs a frustrated hand through his hair. “He says,I sent you two boats.”
I just stare at him.
“This”—he nods toward the torn-up paper on the ground—“what I’m trying to do for you, is your boat, Hannah. It’s your fucking boat.”
