He issoil, but the crushing, foreboding worry that it’ll be too much for him to continue having grace for me robs the air from my lungs. Tears well. The blurry droplets hit the rug.
My own parents gave up on me. I can’t remember a time they were ever kind or gentle, not even while I was young enough that knowingnothingmade sense.
My own parents reduced me to someone who works and cleans, and the most proud they’ve ever been of me is right now, when they think that a complete stranger is taking advantage of me.
That’s not right.
Something isn’t right with this.
So I drag myself to my bed, reach a shaking hand toward my laptop, and do something I’ve thought was not only ungrateful and disrespectful, but also just plain wrong.
Through clouded eyes and trembling keystrokes, I type: what are the signs of parental emotional abuse?
Then I check every box.
?
“Clara?” Lukas hedges, not sharing a single sign of the devastation I witnessed early this morning.
My stomach knots as I stop frosting the cake I put up yesterday to save as dessert for dinner tonight. After one disaster when I tried to make my mother a birthday cake and it didn’t get a chance to cool completely before I tried to frost it, I have never dared to frost a homemade cake without letting it chill overnight. “Yes?” I whisper, wondering how Lukas might react to a similar failure. Would he even care about the cake?
Or would he just pull me into a hug and tell me how much it meant to him that I was making him something?
This cake isn’t even for him alone, yet he already murmured praises about it into my hair yesterday. I don’t know what’s been going on today. I didn’t come to—or make—breakfast. I googled narcissistic parents and emotional immaturity andabusefor hours, passed out, had another panic attack when I woke up,cried some, and just barely dragged myself down here now, after a lunch I also didn’t make has already been cleared.
Hungry, I opened the fridge to find my cake, ready to frost. And my lunch. Wrapped up and labeled in Lukas’s handwriting.
For Clara.And a heart.
Because helovesme and probably tried to bring me food while I was asleep.
Concern now pours through his intense black-and-white eyes as he watches me. “Are you all right?” His fist closes at his side. “Last night…I didn’t go too far, did I?”
I shake my head. “We didn’t do anything.”
He nods; his fingers flex. “Right. I know. But.” His lungs fill. “I just mean, we’re still friends, right? I was stupid last night. You’re gorgeous, and I’m an idiot. And we don’t need to addbenefitsto our friendship. I’m really not emotionally stable enough for it, and I shouldn’t even have mentioned it as an option. Worse, I shouldn’t have put the decision on your shoulders like I did. I’m… I’m very sorry.”
“You’re not stupid,” I state, harder than I think I’ve ever said anything before in my life. Looking back at my cake, I frost another flower. “Wanting me…isn’t stupid, right?”
“No.No. That’s not what I mean. I shouldn’t have asked. I shouldn’t have brought you to my bed. I shouldn’t have posed any of the questions I did. Period.”
“It’s not all your fault. I let things go as far as they did by myself. I was even planning to pretend to fall asleep, just so I could stay with you longer.”
“You…were?”
I nod.
“You wanted to stay with me longer, but then I ruined everything?”
Frowning, I lift my piping nozzle from the cake and face him. “Weeks ago, I’d have slept with you, fully. I’d have been terrified.But I’d have done it. Last night, I wasn’t completely sure whether or not I wanted to risk the potential thatjustsleeping together might become something else, and I expressed that, and you took me back to my room, smiling at me as though I didn’t have to do anything I didn’t want to and you would still care about and respect me anyway.” Stupid tears build in my eyes, as though I haven’t cried enough today. I can’t force them back, so I at least step away from my cake in case they fall in the garden I’m meticulously piping. Biting my lip, I try to contain myself as I relinquish my decorating bag and wipe my hands on my apron. “That, Lukas, is ruiningnothing.”
“Lukas…?” he whispers, freezing before his hand can reach the trail of my tears.
Even though a spear of anxiety hits me, I step into his touch. “I’m sorry. I didn’t…”
“No. No apologies.” He cups my face, swipes his thumb across my cheek. “You…can call me that, my queen. Whenever you want.” Heat blazes in his eyes. “It feels right from you. Forgive me if I have missed an opportunity to show you how highly I consider you.”
“You haven’t.” I tilt into his warmth, letting my eyes close. “You never do. I fear it’s my own opinions of myself getting in the way of your consideration.” I suffer a difficult inhale. “I’m…going to try working on them, though. Can I…” I wet my lips, chance a glimpse of him. “Will you help me? Please?”
