He dozes off at some point, so I guess he really was tired. Carefully, I slip from the bed and sort through a pile of books sitting on the floor. There’s an autobiography of some Japanese dude, a book about the brain, a bunch of other stuff, and a detective mystery book. I pick the last one and settle back into bed, sitting next to Hayden as he sleeps.
The book is set in Venice, about an Italian detective who solves murders. I’m just starting chapter two when Hayden wakes up. He blinks blearily at me and his brows furrow with confusion when he sees the book.
“What are you doing?”
“Reading,” I answer.
“But I thought you weren’t into reading.”
I shrug. “But you’re into reading, so I want to see what the hype is about.”
He doesn’t respond, like he’s not sure how to process the statement.
“Want me to read to you?” I ask on a whim.
“Really?” He sounds skeptical. Well, I’ll show him.
I clear my throat and start reading, waving my hand in the air and channeling my best Mario Brothers impression. I barely get a sentence in before Hayden bursts out laughing.
“What are you doing?” he asks.
“What? You don’t like my Italian accent?” I say, still trying to sound like Mario.
Hayden’s laughing so hard, he can’t even talk. He shakes his head and covers his face with his hand. I laugh too, feeling like a fucking hero.
I can make Hayden laugh. Even at his lowest and darkest, I can still make him laugh, bright and loud and unreserved. If that’s not a superpower, I don’t know what is.
CHAPTER
TWENTY-ONE
HAYDEN
Ireallydid not want to go to the tuxedo fitting shoot. But I alsoreallydidn’t want to be left at home by myself either. What Ireallywanted was to stay in bed with Santino the whole day.
Like what we did yesterday after Rhys and Sebastian left. I drifted in and out of sleep, trying my best to ignore the voice and the heaviness whenever it tried to consume me. Santino was next to me the entire time, holding me from behind or sitting up next to me, reading a book.
That was so fucking adorable. The silly accent he put on, waving his hand in the air like he was some sort of Italian chef. It made me laugh—like actual, real laughter that I felt right down in my belly—for the first time in a really long time. It was such a relief, a bit of lightness that kept me from sinking too far into the darkness again.
Even so, I didn’t want to get out of bed this morning.
I feel like I’m moving through thirty feet of water. Everything is slow and sluggish. Sounds are muted. Light is diluted. It takes me several seconds to process what other people are saying andthen several more seconds to figure out a response. I feel so tired.
It doesn’t help that everyone’s acting weird. They’re all like, “Heeeyyy… are you okay? Are you sure? Do you need anything? Let me know if you need anything. Do you need to take a break? Don’t push yourself too hard. Self-care is important.”
I never know what to say. If I’m honest and say that I feel like shit, that I’d rather be curled up in bed and unconscious, then they’ll insist I go home. But I don’t want to go home to an empty apartment. So I lie and say I’m fine, then feel guilty because I told Sebastian I wouldn’t pretend anymore.
I know my friends mean well. I know they care. But all the special treatment only makes me feel like more of a burden than I already am. They’re going so far out of their way to make sure I’m being taken care of. I swear it’d be easier for everyone if I just left so they could get on with things without constantly worrying about me.
They’d totally be better off without you holding them back.
My chest pangs at the thought, but I push it away. I can’t dwell on it. I’ll start spiraling if I do.
Santino’s the only one who’s treating me like a normal human being. He teases me and jokes around with me. He’s not asking if I need to take a break every five minutes or offering to bring me endless bottles of water.
He’s got this really subtle way of checking in on me. Just a hand to my waist or back or arm and then he waits for me to meet his gaze. He cocks a questioning eyebrow and if I’m okay, I nod. If I’m not, I won’t, and he always seems to know exactly what I need without me telling him. A silly comment that brings a smile to my face. Helping himself to a seat so I don’t feel too conspicuous when I sit down next to him.
He’s my lifeline, the one thing keeping me from floating away and drowning. The only source of air that keeps me from suffocating.
