“I don’t owe you the truth!” I shout, taking a step back and toward the door.
Maybe this was a bad idea. How did I think for a moment that he wouldn’t try to dismantle me? Maybe this was his plan all along. While I was planning to seduce and destroy him, Nate was slowly bringing me to my knees to exploit me emotionally.
I fear that if this is a race to see who can break the other first, Nate might just be winning.
“So what am Idoinghere then?” he questions angrily, standing from the bed. “Did you just want to fuck? Is that it? Do you want me to pin you down and shove into you until you’re sobbing, or do you crave riding my cock untilI’mthe one in shambles? Tell me, Landon, if I’m not here to help you, what am I here for?”
“Stop talking,” I demand, taking another step back as he suddenly advances. “You don’t know what you’re—”
“Thentell me,” he insists.
“I don’t know what to say!” I’ve snapped. He’s officially crashed through the walls I’ve built like an angry bulldozer, one that seems to be capable of reaching deep inside of me and turning my entire soul inside out. “I don’t knowwhatis wrong with me!”
Nate hesitates for just a moment, as if he, too, can sense that I’m crumbling. Then he continues to stalk toward me, all dominance and calm demeanor.
“There isn’t anythingwrongwith you, Landon,” he says, and it’s not gentle or caring in tone, but it is sincere.
“That’s what I’ve made you believe,” I whisper, my eyes straying from his. “But there is. I promise you, there is.”
“Explain it to me then,” he commands. “Tell me what’s wrong with you. You said it yourself, right? No one can truly care about you if they don’t know you. Sotell me.”
Nate says it as if hewantsto care about me. Like he’s fighting this desire to be close the same way I am. And that, in and of itself, is enough for me to crack open fully.
“There is nothing to tell,” I say quietly. “They can’t find it. They don’t knowwhyI’m this way.”
“What way?” he pushes, now only a foot or two in front of me.
“Sad? Miserable? Constantly drowning in a darkness so consuming I can hardly find my way out?” I laugh, but it’s bitter and defeated.
A part of me believes that this very well may be the last time I see Nate. He won’t want to deal with me anymore.
“Some people think I just want attention,” I continue. “Some think I’m holding a terrible secret that’s slowly killing me. But they’re both wrong; I’m full of misery forno fucking reason. I’m just… broken.”
I can’t look at him. I refuse to acknowledge the judgment that is no doubt in those honey eyes, or the subtle tilt of his frown.
As I stare at the floor, the plush carpet is suddenly covered by sock-clad feet, and I can feel Nate’s presence so close to me. Why he isn’t running or calling me names and sendingmeaway is a mystery.
“You’re not broken,” he finally says, and his tone this timeissoft. It’s gentle and sweet and understanding. “You have a chemical imbalance in your brain.”
His pointer finger presses softly against my forehead, and my eyes well up with tears, suddenly overcome with the need to sob. To be seen. To be understood, even as I don’t get it myself.
“You’re just wired differently,” he goes on. “You’re playing life on hard mode. It’s unfortunate, and it’s hard to explain to others, but it doesn’t make you bad. It doesn’t make you incapable of accepting care or affection.”
“But…” My voice is shaky, distant even to my own ears as I stare at his socks. “But how do I explain to people that I’m so tired, so mentally drained for no reason at all? How do I… how do I make people proud of me?”
“You could try taking medicine. And if that isn’t your cup of tea, then you surround yourself with people who are willing to take the bad days with you.”
Strong fingers grip my chin, forcing my head to tilt back and my eyes to meet his. Nate looks so sincere, so honed in on me in this moment, that the tears actuallydoslip free.
“Nobody wants to spend time with someone like me. They only like the façade, the happy-go-lucky rich boy.”
Nate tilts his head again, his eyes drilling into mine. “Someone will. Someone out there will want to stomach your burdens with you.”
Him.I want him to stomach my burdens, to lift them from my shoulders and pull me from the murky depths of my own sorrow just as he does every time he touches me.
But I can’t ask him for that. I can’t push our fragile circumstance any more than I have. It might have him running for real, and I wouldn’t be able to take that.
“Touch me,” I command gently. “It goes away… it stops when you touch me.”
