Page 150 of Heartbeat

“What’s the point in blaming them?”

“Look at you! Look at what they did to you!”

“They didn’t do this to me.”

He huffed. “They didn’t? Are you telling me they played no part in you failing? They only made you get better; is that it?”

“Why are you so angry at them?”

“Because they left you all alone!” he said, almost shouting. “And it’s not what you deserve.”

“Listen—”

“I would never do that to you,” he said, as serious as I’d ever seen him.

“Is this what you want? Really? Do you even know?”

He didn’t answer; he just kept staring at me.

“I get sad out of fucking nowhere, Ethan. All the time. Sometimes it’s justified, but mostly it doesn’t really make any fucking sense,” I said, shaking my head. “I can go days in which everything seems to physically hurt me, for no particular reason. Is that something you want to be around for?”

“What if it is?” he asked defiantly.

“Oh my God, why? I don’t even want to be around me; why would you?”

Again, he didn’t say anything. He simply took a step in my direction, and I couldn’t help but take a step back. I hated myself the very instant I did because he looked so hurt.

“I don’t know that I have anything more to offer, do you understand that? I’m not sure I’ve got anything left. I can’t even remember a time I wasn’t like this; how pathetic is that?”

“So, you’ve been lying?” he finally asked. “All this time?”

“What?” I frowned. “I never lied to you.”

“You say you’ve nothing to give, yet what have you been doing since we’ve met? Because I gotta say, Tom, if that was you not having anything to give, then I’m fucked because it’s more than I’ve ever had.”

I barked out a laugh. “Jesus, you need to get out more.”

“Please don’t joke,” he pleaded quietly.

I shook my head repeatedly without saying anything for a few seconds. “How can you look at me like that?” I was finally able to ask him.

“Like what?”

“Like that. After all I’ve done, after all you know. How can you even—”

“You thought I’d look at you differently?”

“Why don’t you?”

“Jesus, Tom.”

“I’m sorry, I just—”

“Stop apologizing!” He raised his voice slightly. “I’m not them,” he said, almost insulted and then added, somewhat shyly, “I don’t want anything from you. Except, you know…you.”

I couldn’t help but smile.

“I know you, Tom,” he whispered. “I know exactly who you are, and I’m still here, because—” He took another step closer, and I was suddenly breathless again—this time I didn’t move. “Because I’ve always known, I guess. I just knew.”

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