Page 40 of Be Your Somebody
The second I close my front door, I collapse and completely lose it. So much for crying in my bed. My body is a blender and my feelings are the ingredients. As the emotions swirl together, I become so overwhelmed that hot and salty tears fall from my eyes.
I don’t know how long I’ve been sitting on the floor, but a soft knock followed by a soft voice has my head snapping up. My heart wants to be petty and ignore him, but my body has a mind of its own. Despite my hurt, the way he says my name has shivers of electricity rippling down and heat pooling between my legs.
“Avery, please open the door. I can explain everything, but I need to see your face,” he pleads. I am so close to giving in. My hand is braced on the doorknob, my forehead resting on the door. When he says my name again, his voice cracks and I swing the door open before I realize what I'm doing.
“Cas. I don’t think we should be having a conversation right now. Maybe us taking this next step isn’t in the cards for us. I—"
“No, baby. Just no. Avery, I need you, especially now. I—just please hear me out?” he pleads.
All my previous thoughts and questions fly out the window when I notice how puffy and red his eyes are. “Cas,” I whisper. And that’s all it takes for his body to succumb to uncontrollable shaking due to his sobs. He looks like he’s on the verge of collapsing, so I pull him inside and manage to bring him to the couch before he collapses into a ball in my lap.
Just like that, it’s as if Cas’ pain pulled the plug, letting all my anger swirl down the drain. All I’m left with is feeling helpless. Cas, who keeps his feelings under lock and key, is an absolute mess. I said some hurtful things to him earlier, but I didn’t expect him to react this way. Guilt is a heavy boulder in my body and the urge to apologize sits on the tip of my tongue.
“Babe, it’s okay. Shh, you’re safe. I’m sorry if I—"
“Avery, no, please don’t. You’re not to blamehere.”
“But I—" He places his hand atop mine, stopping me mid-sentence.
“Avery, listen, please. You are not to blame for any of this. I…” He pauses as if he was thinking about what to say next. As much as I want to have my say, my gut tells me to remain silent.
“I started seeing a therapist a little while ago. It was recommended to me during treatment.” It doesn't matter how many times we talk about being hospitalized from his overdose. I still wince a little every time.
“Wow, Cas, that's great. I’m really proud of you. I know that can't be easy,” I say, a little stunned by his confession. My fingers tremble as they play with the soft, wavy tendrils of his hair. I hope that he doesn’t pick up on what I’m feeling. This is about wanting him to feel better and not about me and my fears. His eyes are closed as he lets out a sigh of contentment, but when his eyes finally open, all I see is pain. My heart flips in my chest, but not in a good way. In theI know what he’s about to tell me is going to rip my heart out of my chest and break it in a million pieces,kind of way. I settle on running my fingers gently through his hair, hoping that this simple touch conveys what my words cannot.
“It was difficult to go in the beginning. I was only planning to go once and then be done. I thought therapy wasn't going to work for me. That I was broken beyond repair—"
I interrupt him before he can continue. “Cas, it breaks my heart when you say things like that.” I look down and see he’s no longer looking at me. I stop playing with his hair and bring my hands up to cup both sides of his face. I wait for his eyes to meet mine before I continue, knowing how important it is for him to understand what I’m telling him.
“Cas, listen to me.Youare not broken. You grew up with shitty circumstances that had nothing to do with you.Youdid not ask to have the father you have.Youare beautifully whole. I know you can’t see it. I know you don't believe me. My hope is that one day, instead of seeing a shattered mirror beyond repair, you see stained glass. A beautiful masterpiece of different shapes and colors that are wonderful alone, but together tell the most beautifully unique story.”
“Avery, you’re too good for me.” He sees me shaking my head, ready to argue, so he continues. “No, you are. I wonder every single day what I did to deserve someone like you in my life. You’re selfless, although lately you’ve learned to put yourself first. You see and accept people for who they are without judgment. You were my first friend when I camehere. I was in awe, seeing this eight-year-old strut her way over with such confidence. She didn’t give me any choice but to be her friend, and I knew then that you did me the biggest favor ever.” He pauses, needing a moment to collect himself.
“How I treated you back in high school, I—"
“Cas, you don’t have to go there. It’s okay.” But he shakes his head.
“No, I need to. You deserve this. I look back at those moments with shame and disgust. Here was this beautifully kind woman who didn’t ask for anything in return, and I took advantage of that.” He pauses a moment, almost as if he is unsure what to say next. He removes himself from my lap and turns to face me with his whole body.
“There are things about me you don’t know. Things I didn’t remember until this morning. Before getting into all of that, you have to know and understand something first.” His eyes were so intense I couldn’t look away even if I wanted to.
“I didn’t change my mind about you today. I want you just as much, if not more, than when we were growing up. It physically hurts knowing you think your feelings are one-sided. I’m going to promise, no, I willshowyou how much I feel for you every day. You’re so much more to me than my best friend. You’re my home, my lifesaver, my rock, and my…” He pauses, causing my heart to race. The look in his eyes goes soft and the gray in his eyes pierce deep into my soul. “Avery, you are my first and only love. I always knew how special you would be to me, but by the time I could put into words how I felt, I just couldn’t.” He lets out a laugh that doesn't reach his eyes. No, his eyes simultaneously ask a question and search for an answer. Cas quickly continues as if his vulnerability has a time limit, so I don’t get the chance to say those three words.
He loves me.That confession sends a wave of butterflies to my stomach. He loves me. I repeat to myself, feeling warm and fuzzy as if my body is wrapped up in my favorite Christmas onesie.
“Avery? What’s with your face? You have this goofy grin,” he says.
I bring my hand to my cheek and realize that I do, in fact, have a big grin on my face. “You told me you love me. I guess I'm just wondering why you never told me?”
“I never told you because I wasn’t what you deserved. You know who my father is, but you never knew the extent of how bad it was. Not telling you was my own fault. It wasn't as if I didn't trust you. I thought that if I letyou all the way in, I would lose you. My therapist has been helping me work through my feelings. She’s helping me understand that what happened to me wasn’t my fault. It’s hard to accept, especially with this new information I learned about myself.”
The hesitation radiates off him in waves, so I grab both of his hands in mine and bring them to my chest. “Cas, I love you, too. I love everything about you, the good and the bad. You are stronger than you know. I can tell this is difficult for you to talk about, so you can tell me whenever you want. Nothing you say will change how I feel. Whether you tell me today, tomorrow, a month, or a year from now, I will listen and still love you.” He looks at me with teary eyes and leans his forehead against mine.
“I was sexually abused as a child.” His confession causes me to snap my head back to see his face still bowed with shame. I can’t help but just stare. My brain is a computer stuck on the loading screen. So many questions enter my mind, but he continues before I can ask any of them.
“I’ve been having these weird recurring dreams that were always so vivid. I would awake in a cold sweat and fear in my eyes. They involved this little boy and a dark room. I pushed them away because I didn't know what they meant at the time, dismissing them as silly little dreams. It wasn't until my therapist saw me having a flashback, that's what those dreams are called, that she diagnosed me with PTSD. I started to share these dreams with her during our sessions.
“This morning, I felt off. I was too numb to feel excited for our date. My therapy session was earlier today when I told her that the flashbacks and nightmares were getting worse. She asked me to do a writing exercise, which unlocked something in me, causing another flashback.”
