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“Savannah,” he pleaded, his own voice low, but he did as I asked and released my arm.
I shot up off the bed. “I just...” I turned away and started for the bathroom. “Just give me a minute, please.”
Once again, I found myself hiding in the bathroom. This morning though, I sat on the floor with my knees up to my chest and my forehead resting on them, as I squeezed my eyes shut and counted to one hundred. My body rocked with each beat of my heart, but every time I noticed the gentle sway, I forced my attention back to the numbers.
At one hundred, I began counting down backward, slowly and in time with my inhales.
Outside the bathroom door, I could hear as Ryan moved around the cabin. Again, I tried not to focus on those noises and back internally, but it was no use.
My mind craved to find him.
Knowing there was nowhere for me to go but out there to confront every thought I’d had over the last three years, I stood and brushed my teeth, staring at my reflection.
Mentally going over everything I could say, and everything he could respond with.
Of course, my initial thoughts on how he would react were negative.
He’d laugh.
He’d tell me I was crazy.
That I was just his friend.
That nothing changed for him.
But then my therapist’s words filtered in: what negative thinking pattern is this?
Jumping to conclusions.
Making negative assumptions.
Your feelings are legitimate.
My feelings.
Were.
Legitimate.
And it was okay if they weren’t the same feelings Ryan had, but I couldn’t keep on this spiral of self-hate all because I was worried about what he was thinking.
Spitting out the toothpaste foam in my mouth, I wiped my lips and chin with the back of my hand and stared hard.
“You’ve got this,” I whispered to my reflection. “Own your feelings. They’re legitimate.”
I took a deep breath and nodded a couple more times.
My head was going to fall off with all the nodding, but sometimes you just needed some self-affirmation.
For the first time since I realized I was going to be in close confines with my best friend, slash the man I was pretty sure I was in love with, slash the man I was pretty sure I couldn’t have—at least, until learning that he told Bella no (just what the hell did that mean?)—I had a sense of ease.
I felt powerful in my feelings.
You’re going to open the door and that feeling will evaporate.
I really hated that fucking devil on my shoulder.
Ignoring it, I pulled open the door and immediately found Ryan standing at the counter. He still wore the sweatpants and t-shirt he went to bed in, which I supposed, unless he were to change in the open bedroom area, he’d have to be in.
