“You should lock your door if you don’t want people to come in without knocking,” I say, standing in front of her, trying to keep my tone light even though I’m anything but calm inside. I notice the half-empty bottle of Coke on the coffee table and pick it up, looking at it, then back at her. “You never drink soda. What are you doing? That stuff is not good for you.”
“Trying to drown the butterflies,” she mumbles, her voice small and defeated.
“In Coke? Try vodka next time,” I retort, carrying the bottle to the sink to pour it out.
“Hey!” she protests, a spark of life in her voice, but I’m already retrieving her shoes and kneeling to put them on for her. She swats me away, probably more out of reflex than actual resistance.
“What are you even doing here?” she demands, her voice trembling with frustration and something else—something more vulnerable.
“We’re going for a walk.”
“What? No, I don’t want to. I was just on a hike!”
“Tough luck,” I reply, my tone more gentle as I pull her to a stand, making her face me.
“Grey. Leave.Please.”
A single tear escapes from the corner of her eye, trailing down her cheek. The sight of it breaks something inside me, and I gently remove her glasses and wipe the tear away with my thumb. Without thinking, I bring my thumb to my mouth and lick it away, my eyes never leaving hers.
Her eyes widen in shock, and I notice her gaze flicker to my lips, lingering there. For a moment, time seems to freeze, andI savor the connection, feeling an unexpected thrill as her eyes remain locked on my mouth. But I know this isn’t the time for that, so I clean her glasses on my shirt and carefully put them back on her, noticing how heavy they feel. The button on the side is almost invisible.
Fuck, this is huge.
But it’s not the right time to think about that either.
“Be a good girl and do what I say,” I instruct, reaching down to take her hand in mine, trying to convey through touch what I can’t express in words.
“I don’t want to talk,” she whispers, her voice trembling with the weight of everything she’s holding inside.
“Fine,” I reply. “I said we’re going for a walk, not a talk. Come on.”
I gently but firmly guide her out of the apartment, my hand lingering on the small of her back as we step into the hallway. The silence between us is heavy, almost suffocating, but I know she needs it, needs the quiet to process whatever is going on inside her head. I can feel the tension radiating from her, a storm brewing just beneath the surface. I wish I could say something, anything, but I don’t want to push her. Not yet.
At Grandpa’s house, she waits outside, her arms wrapped around herself as if she’s trying to hold herself together. She still hasn’t said a word, and it’s starting to worry me.
I hurry inside, grabbing Peanut’s leash, and when I return with him, I hand it to her, hoping Peanut might bring her some comfort. She takes the leash without looking at me or properly saying hello to him, her movements automatic, like she’s on autopilot.
We continue our walk to the park, the silence between us only broken by the occasional bark from Peanut or the sounds of the city. I keep glancing at her, trying to gauge her mood, but her expression remains distant, her eyes fixed on the ground. She’shere, but not really here, and it tears me up inside. I want to reach out, to pull her back from wherever she’s gone, but I don’t know how.
When we pass a small supermarket, I hesitate for a moment before making a quick decision. “Wait here,” I tell her and Peanut, pointing to a spot by the door. She nods absently, barely acknowledging me. I duck into the store and grab two cones of ice cream—strawberry for her, coffee for me. It’s a small gesture, but I’m hoping it might bring a spark of life back into her eyes.
Finding a bench in the park, we sit down, Peanut quietly resting beside us as we eat our ice creams. I watch her out of the corner of my eye, hoping for some sign, any sign, that she’s coming back to me. She eats slowly, methodically, as if she’s just going through the motions. It’s so unlike her that it makes my chest ache. The Amelia I know would be teasing me about my coffee-flavored choice, but right now, she’s a million miles away.
When we’re done, I can’t ignore the defeated look in her eyes anymore. So, I stand up, taking the leash from her hand, our fingers brushing for a brief second.
“Come on,” I say, steering her toward a patch of grass shaded by a cluster of trees.
We pause under the shade of a large tree with the branches above us swaying gently in the breeze. Amelia leans back against the tree trunk, her posture heavy when she lets out a deep sigh. I tilt my head, studying her face, but I stay silent, waiting for her to come to me, offering her the same courtesy she always gives everyone else.
Finally, she opens her pretty mouth to talk to me. “It seems like I’m never good enough,” she whispers, watching Peanut sniff the ground.
What?
“Amelia…” I start, stepping closer.
“No matter what I do, no matter how hard I try to be good enough… I’m not.” Her voice cracks, and with it, so does my heart. The pain in her words cuts through me like a knife, and I feel a surge of protective anger rising within me—anger that she’s feeling this way, that someone has made her believe this lie.
I step forward, unable to keep the distance between us any longer. I press her gently but firmly against the tree with my hip, gripping her chin with the hand that’s holding Peanut’s leash, guiding her to look at me. My other hand cradles the back of her head, ensuring she doesn’t hit the rough bark. She gasps, her eyes widening in surprise before she averts her gaze, unable or unwilling to meet mine.
