Page 107 of Heartbeat

“Beer, cups, chips—” Ethan said as we walked along the street.

I was barely paying attention. I had my Super 8 going uninterrupted in my head, showing me memories I desperately wished could remain hidden.

“Cocaine, Molly, dildos,” he said. “What else?”

“I dunno. I think that’s all we need.”

“Okay.” He came to a full stop. “What’s wrong?”

“Huh?”

We were at the very middle of the zebra line. As the honking and yelling began, I was removed from the lake and brought back to New York, where Ethan stood in front of me, ignoring his surroundings as much as I had been but only because his attention was fully directed at me as he nervously waited for me to reply. I looked around and shook my head, took his hand, and led the way to the curb.

“Don’t do that!” I scolded him.

“I’m surprised you noticed.” He raised both arms in frustration. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” I lied. “I just—I dunno where I was just now,” I lied again.

He looked around, spotted a coffee shop with absolutely zero difficulty, and started walking over toward it. I followed him inside as he proceeded to find a table.

“Do you want some water or something?” he asked, sitting down.

“I’m okay,” I told him, lying yet again. “I’ll get us some coffee.”

I turned and went to stand in line, leaving my phone at the table. The barista took my order and wrote my name on two cups. After I gave him my card, I slowly made my way over to the far end of the counter. I couldn’t bring myself to look at our table, so I just waited until some girl called out, “Tomász.” I took both of his drinks and went back to Ethan, finding he still had the same concerned look etched across his face.

“Therapy was kind of…a lot,” I said, placing his salted caramel mocha in front of him.

“I can see that.” He was trying so hard not to seem angry, when he had every right to be. I had ignored him for God knows how many blocks.

“Seeing Marcy was kind of—”

“—too much?”

“—sad,” I admitted, trying so hard to look okay.

I hated the idea of him thinking he was doing something wrong, but even more, I hated letting whatever frustration or anger I was feeling out on him. So I kept running every sentence in my head before twisting them into something that could make sense, making sure to double-check I wasn’t being such a fucking prick.

“Do you want to go home?” he asked kindly.

“I think I should. I’m afraid I’m—I’m not the best company right now.”

“Sorry, but—that’s not what I asked, babe. Do you want to go home?” he calmly repeated, and with such warmth.

I shook my head. “I want to stay with you, but—”

“But what?”

“It’s not a good day, Ethan.”

“I hate those. Whenever I have a bad day, I’m just the worst person to be around—you’ll see. And when my swimming is off? Oof, I do not want to be in your shoes when you get to handle me when that happens. It’s so shitty, isn’t it? People always keep adding to it and making it worse because they keep trying to help, and all you want to do is scream STOP!”

I smiled; it was the least I could do.

“My point is—” he said. “If you’re having a bad day, and you want to be alone, that’s fine. But, if you’re having a bad day and don’t really want to be on your own, that’s fine too.”

“It is?”

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