I fall back onto the mattress with my phone on my chest, staring up at the ceiling. I don’t think I’ve felt this low since that night in the hospital.
Wes:We’ve all been there. No one’s judging you. Trust me. Rest up and I’ll see you soon :)
I heart his message and toss my phone somewhere on the bed. I try to sleep more, but adrenaline won’t let me. Neither will the horrific thoughts bombarding my mind.
Sometime later the door creaks open. My body tenses because I was an idiot not to lock it, but I relax at the sound of Wes’s murmured, “Are you awake?”
I should tell him.
I have to tell him.
Ineedto tell him.
But fear keeps me lip locked.
If he doesn’t believe me, what will I do then?
If he doesn’t believe me…
I.
Will.
Break.
Tuesday.
I can’t stay in the room any longer. Now that my hangover’s gone, I can’t use it as an excuse to be anti-social, and I can’t tell Wes the truth. I tried. All through the night I tried, but every time I went to shake him awake, my body froze, and my throat constricted. The truth evaded me again and again, until I gave up on it completely.
So when Wes kisses my cheek good morning and asks how I’m feeling, I lie and say much better. And when he tugs me into his arms and tells me how worried he was, I apologize for making him worry. And when he tells me to stop apologizing for a silly mistake, I fight back the urge to cry, managing a nod.
He sees right through me though, just like always.
“I can tell you’re really upset about this, Ives,” he murmurs against the top of my head, arms tightening around me. “Please don’t be upset. I promise no one’s judging you. If anything, they’re all empathetic and just want to make sure you’re alright. Okay?”
I nod against his chest, but I can’t help a tear that slips free. “Okay.”
He pulls back to get a better look at my face, his brow knitting at whatever he sees there. “Ivy,” he says quietly. “Everything’s going to be fine. I swear it will.”
My mouth dries up. When I don’t respond, his eyes search mine, trying to read the emotions behind them and uncover the truth. He’ll never deduce it though, not this time. How could he? Why would he? My stomach turns over.
“Did you drink that much because you were feeling anxious?” he asks, his hands squeezing my shoulders before brushing gently down my arms. “Is it too many people? Is it too much?”
“I-I was feeling anxious,” I tell him, stumbling over the words in a way I haven’t done around him in a while.
Compassion flares in his eyes. “What do you need? What can I do?”
Tell him the truth.
I open my mouth, but another lie slips out instead. “I’m fine, Wes. Really. Don’t worry about me.”
He doesn’t look like he believes me, but I can tell he doesn’t want to press too hard. So he kisses my forehead and lets me off the hook. At least for now, anyway.
I emerge from my isolation with my hand in his, bleary-eyed and overly cautious, wanting nothing more than to crawl back into bed and stay there forever. Wes pulls me straight to the coffee machine and starts doctoring a cup while my eyes note who’s awake and who’s not, ascertaining the current level of threat in this kitchen.
Minimal.
It’s just Ben and Kaden, sipping their mugs at the counter. Ben beams at me. “There she is. How are you feeling, Ivy?”
