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“Really? Because it sounds like you just made yourself throw up.”
The words carry the weight of a slap and I flinch. They’ve never been said to me before and I’m not ready to receive them.
I turn back around and away from him. I run my trembling hands under the water, drawing out my response as I try to cling to my composure.
“I didn’t feel well,” I say tonelessly, avoiding his gaze in the mirror. “I preferred to just get it out and over with.”
I brush my teeth, still averting my eyes. He says nothing. The silence compresses the air in the room until I feel like I can’t breathe. I can feel him standing impossibly still behind me, staring me down.
Finally, he breaks it.
“You’re lying.”
My eyes fly up to meet and hold his. He gives nothing away. A crack appears on my fragile heart, one that slowly worsens, fissuring into dozens of little tentacles until it feels like if I so much as breathe, it’ll fracture.
He takes a step towards me.
Then another.
“This isn’t the first time you’ve made yourself throw up, it’s just the first time I witnessed it. You’ve been doing it for a while. For how long, I’m not sure, but I’d guess this isn’t a recent development.”
“Stop.”
“The benefit of being obsessed with you is that I watch you, Nera. All the time. I see you stumble sometimes, I see you brace yourself against surfaces. You’re in pain. You’re lightheaded. You’rehungry.”
His voice pounds against my temples. It’s not unkind or critical, but I can’t breathe, I can’t see. He’s pulling at everything I’ve been holding together, trying to yank it loose so he can look at the ugliness underneath. He has no right.
“Stop.”
Panic seizes hold of me. I never wanted him to see me like this. Not him. I can’t make him understand this. I can’t take his judgment of me, his horror at how fucked up I am.
Worse, hisdisgustof me.
“Is this why you won’t stay the night? Is this why you push me away every time I try to get close?”
Shame and terror fill me. This is my worst nightmare, everything I feared would happen since I realized that I have feelings for him.
Try as I might have to keep my emotional distance from him, he’s managed to worm his way in. And the pain of knowing he’s discovered my secret and that he’s undoubtedly about to reject me because of it hurts more than any physical bruise or hit.
I feel so exposed and vulnerable that it’s almost enough to make me sick again.
I dig deep, searching for that place in my mind and try to bury myself there, wrapping cool aloofness around me like I’m not dying on the inside.
“I don’t stay over and I push you away because I’m not interested in a relationship with you. I’ve told you that repeatedly, you just won’t listen.”
He stares at me with depthless intensity and I can’t take it.
I look away.
“I don’t believe you,” he retorts.
“I think you should leave,” I say, turning away.
“No.”
Simple.
Why is he making this so hard?
