She tries to laugh it off, her hand falling from my grasp as she goes to tuck her hair behind her ears. “Well…this is embarrassing.”
“No, it’s not.”
I don’t mean to sound so serious, but I can’t help myself. Something about the way she flinched away from me… It stung. I know it’s not because ofme, but it makes my chest tighten just thinking about what had to have happened to her in order for her to react that way.
Her face falls when she realizes I’m not smiling at her joke. “I’m sorry.”
“Why do you apologize for things that aren’t your fault?”
She blinks at me, taken aback by my question, and so am I. I don’t know what’s gotten into me, making me react and respond so quickly without overthinking it, but I don’t want it to stop. I’ve never felt more at ease before, but maybe it’s the adrenaline pumping through my veins at helping her navigate her panic attack.
“I don’t know,” she whispers. “I’m a little more fucked up than I let on, Tate.”
“You’re not?—”
She shifts suddenly, grabbing her things. “We should get checked in.”
I said something wrong, Ididsomething wrong… She’s shutting down on me in a matter of seconds, the mask flying back up like nothing ever happened. I understand if she doesn’t want to talk about this stuff; I know I didn’t for a while after. It took me years to open up to a therapist about what I was feeling. How could I ever expect her to talk to me so openly about whatever it was that was giving her panic attacks, if I wasn’t fully open with her, either?
So, I don’t say anything as she climbs out of the truck; I just help gather our overnight bags and follow closely behind her as we head into the hotel, careful to make sure she doesn’t slip on the ice coating the pavement.
She doesn’t say a single word as we get checked in; she just stands off to the side, looking around but not really looking at anything. In a fog that’s clouding her mind. She doesn’t say anything as we step into the elevator and reach our floor, not even when we get the door open to our room to findonebed instead of two.
Oh, no.
There must have been a mix-up. I know we were supposed to have two full-sized beds, and this… I don’t want to scare her away even more by having to sleep in the same bed as me.
“I can take the floor,” I say.
“It’s okay, Tate.” She enters the room, dropping her stuff onto the bed before she walks toward the bathroom. “We’re both adults. Just get in the bed.”
Maeve closes the door behind her before I can even say anything, not that I was going to, anyway. I’m too busy standing here like an idiot, my lips parted slightly, and the door to our room still hanging wide open. Clamping my mouth shut after a few seconds, I swallow as I close the door and lock it.
I feel bad and hate that I don’t know how to express that.
Laying our bags by the bench near the window, I pull out my clothes to change into for bed, and bump the air conditioning down because I know she can’t sleep when it’s too warm. It has to be cool enough to bundle up in sweats and a long-sleeved shirt, and I’ve already prepped for this after the first night by making sure I always have my own pair of sweats and a hoodie.
It’s a while before she comes out. I’ve already turned off the lights and crawled into bed, on top of the comforter with my hoodie on, before she steps out of the bathroom. It’s quiet as she gets into bed, facing away from me, until a few minutes pass and I hear a few sniffles.
A few sniffles turn into full-blown sobs, and soon, the bed shakes with her crying, and I’m left staring up at the ceiling feeling like a jerk because… What do I do? I can’t just let her cry, but what if she doesn’t want me to acknowledge it? What if she thinks I’m sleeping?
You have to do something.
She’s crying so hard that she’s gasping for air, and I can’t just lay here. I can’t be that guy. So, I tuck my legs, climbing underneath the cover as I turn toward her and place my hand onher back. Softly at first, just letting her know I’m here, before I start to rub my palm back and forth more firmly. She only cries harder.
“Maeve,” I whisper.
“I’m a mess,” she cries, her voice cracking.
Taking a deep breath, I pull her shoulder, forcing her to face me. Her red-rimmed eyes don’t even look up at me before she’s burying her face into my chest, and it takes my brain a few seconds to catch up before I’m wrapping my arms around her.
“You’re not a mess,” I murmur into her hair.
“I let someone take away every piece of me,” she croaks. “Let him stomp on me over and over again until I didn’t recognize myself.”
Speaking those words out loud seems to release another wave of sobs from her chest, and she’s clutching onto me like she’s scared to let go. Scared that I’ll see her cry. Scared that I’ll be looking at her differently.
“Let him…hit me. All those times and I never said anything. Now, I… I can’t…”
