Total pages in book: 225
Estimated words: 218500 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1093(@200wpm)___ 874(@250wpm)___ 728(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 218500 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1093(@200wpm)___ 874(@250wpm)___ 728(@300wpm)
I swallow down the jagged shards, reality bleak before me. No intimacy, ever? Nothing? Living like roommates? The words why bother bounce around softly, but I fear the volume might suddenly get deafening. And I hate what that might say about me. I’ve had to fake plenty of things to try to be supportive to him. Fake smiles. Faking that I’m okay. For him. But is this what life is from here on out?
“Please,” he whispers. “I need you to think about it. Sweetie, you’ve been a saint throughout all of this. Thank you for that. I don’t know what I would’ve done without you. But now that we’re moving forward and life is hitting a new rhythm, we have to be realistic about what I can and can’t give you. I’m trying to think about you instead of just me here.”
Silence stretches between us.
“Chloe, please.”
“I just need some hope, Adam. Some… ”
He shakes his head. “I’m not gonna bullshit. If I say yeah, gimme six months, it’ll feel like more pressure on me. A ticking clock. I need to know if you can live with things this way. Not saying things will be like this forever, also not saying I can give you any more than what we have right now. Because I just don’t know. I’m taking it minute by minute because that’s all I can do. That’s how I can keep myself from thinking dark thoughts about offing myself.”
I jolt in shock.
He keeps talking like he didn’t just drop a bomb, “What I can do is be okay with you getting what you need if it means you and me are still together, still planning to move forward and be a couple. I’m working on being okay, Chloe. I’m not there yet, but I need to work on it without pressure from the person who means the most to me.”
“I’ll… think,” I manage to say, chin wobbling.
All I want right now is for him to open his arms so I can sink into him. I want him to tell me everything is going to be okay, that we’ll figure this out. I want to tell him those things too. That as long as we have one another and as long as we’re open with one another, it’ll all be okay.
But Adam doesn’t say any of these things. And neither will I. Just a few of the right words would go a long way right now for me, but I know I won’t hear them so there’s no point in saying anything else. He classifies himself as a realist. And right now he’s also being a pessimist, which shouldn’t surprise me after the hand he’s been dealt. But I can’t help but feel devastated when instead of putting his arms around me, he turns his focus to his phone as he dumps the rest of the pint of blueberries into his oatmeal bowl.
I guess this is his way of dealing with things. Of keeping the dark thoughts at bay.
I’d describe Adam before the accident as pragmatic, practical, but still full of life, love, and affection. We were always doing things – biking, hiking, adventuring. I used to tell him he should’ve been a life coach. He was that much of a motivator.
I’m starting to think I don’t know who this Adam is anymore. That the Adam I love is gone.
And it’s not his fault.
Three Weeks Later
For the first time since Adam’s accident, I’ve got a night out planned. A few friends are celebrating my best friend Alannah getting a fat bonus and landing a big account at her job. We’re hitting a popular nightclub on the ground floor of her office building.
I hesitated to go, but Adam insisted, reminding me that life needs to move forward, and that Alannah and I are always there for one another’s milestones.
He’s right. She’s been my bestie since we were in fourth grade. We call one another ‘breast friends’ because we were the best of friends since just before we both grew breasts. I grew them first; Alannah was jealous. But I stopped growing at an average sized bra, she kept going until she hit the territory where people wonder if her boobs are surgically enhanced.
“Are you sure you don’t want to come?” I ask Adam, who is lingering in the doorway of the bathroom while I get ready.
“I’m good. And don’t worry about me tonight. Have a good time. Don’t be tempted to even check in.”
“I’ll set things up for you for the morning before I go.”
“Let me take care of myself. I’m perfectly capable.”
“I know you are,” I whisper and try to smile, but it’s got me feeling a little emotional, so I hold my breath while I do it.
Frankly, he didn’t need to push too hard because I’ve been thinking about a night out to let my hair down for a while.