That was mostly what stuck with her now, when she thought about it: how she’d been too wrapped up in her own pain to conceptualize all the lives she’d bruise by trying to end her own. Whether she could ever forgive herself for it.
Her reps had successfully spun it as accidental, and it had never been reported as anything but. She’d even let herself believe it for a while, when it was still fresh, the alternative too unbearable to consider. But she’d had to face the uncomfortable truth that if she was truly serious about getting better, she’d never get anywhere by lying to herself.
She still wasn’t looking at Niko, but she heard his sharp inhale, and a wave of nausea crashed over her, filling her mouth with saliva. She swallowed hard, forcing herself to continue, delivering her next words with as little emotion as possible. It already felt melodramatic enough.
“All I remember is how trapped I felt. Trapped in that life. Trapped inside my own head. And then I felt so guilty for feeling that way, that I couldn’t appreciate everything I had. That I wanted it all to just…stop. I couldn’t see any other way out.”
She heard rustling next to her, and she looked up to see Niko was standing. He held her gaze as he slowly moved toward her, her heart rate increasing as his proximity did. A flash of lightning lit them both up before a furious roll of thunder rattled the windows.
So much for avoiding melodrama.
He eased down on the couch next to her, their thighs pressed together, his hand intertwining in hers.
“I’m so sorry,” he murmured. “I’m sorry you felt so hopeless. I’m sorry you thought that was your only choice. But I’m glad you got out. I’m glad you’re still here.”
“Me, too,” she said, his sudden presence next to her both comforting and completely overwhelming.
They sat there like that for a while, silently holding hands, his thumb brushing softly over hers, back and forth, as they watched the fire.
She felt almost dizzy with relief, even more unburdened than she’d expected. She took a deep breath, drawing on one last burst of courage.
“Do you know what BPD is?”
He turned his head toward her, his brows knit together. It was a long beat before he offered “Baltimore Police Department?”
Merritt laughed, despite herself. “Well, yeah. But I meant borderline personality disorder. That’s what they diagnosed me with. When I went to treatment.”
His bemused expression remained. “I don’t know anything about it. But I can look it up.”
She shook her head. “Don’t. I did when I was first diagnosed, and it was basically like, ‘You’re a monster and a huge burden to everyone you love.’ There’s a lot of stigma around it. Some therapists won’t even work with BPD patients. Honestly,I go back and forth about whether it resonates with me anymore. The therapist I have now thinks it might be complex PTSD that was misdiagnosed, which actually happens a lot. But…I check a lot of the boxes. Especially when I was younger.”
“Like what?”
She rattled them off without having to think twice. It felt like they’d been tattooed on her forehead since the first time she’d encountered them, her stomach swooping uncomfortably with recognition. “Mood swings. Impulsive and reckless behavior. Dissociation. Overwhelming emotions. Unstable relationships.” She glanced at him, then quickly looked away again. “Self-harm.”
His frown deepened, and he squeezed her hand. “But you’ve gotten help for it? There are things you can do to treat it?”
She sighed. “It depends who you ask. Trying is half the battle, and I’m really, really trying. I’ve been in therapy for a long time and found meds that seem to work for me. Also, I think I’ve just mellowed out as I’ve gotten older. I’m able to manage it a thousand times better than I used to.” She turned her head, meeting his eyes again. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t still have…episodes.”
“Like that night at the restaurant?”
She nodded. “Dating…relationships…they’re a huge trigger for me. It’s been two years since my last one ended. None of them have been anything close to healthy. That’s why…that’s why I’m scared to get too close to you. That’s why everyone keeps warning you about me. When I’m with someone, I’m either completely detached or completely obsessed. There’s no in-between.”
He took a deep breath, and she felt herself mirror it subconsciously, her heartbeat marking the endless seconds before he responded.
“And how do you feel about me?” His voice was low, his face close enough that she could feel the ghost of his breath across her lips.
She laughed a little in the back of her throat. “What do you think?”
Something flashed across his face, and the column of his throat flexed. “I think I might be kind of obsessed with you, too.”
She was suddenly too aware of how close they were, their bodies pressed together from knee to shoulder. His other hand drifted over, resting on her forearm between them, then slowly sliding up her arm and back down again, the warmth of his palm radiating through her sweater, making the rest of her feel unbearably cold in comparison. She shivered, her nipples tightening involuntarily, and she saw his chest expand in response as he angled closer to her, millimeter by millimeter.
She had to say something—clearly lay out every last reason he shouldn’t want her—before he could get any closer.
“I’ve been a nightmare girlfriend,” she murmured. “I’ve cheated. I’ve been the other woman. I’ve been possessive and manipulative and an emotional terrorist. You don’t deserve to deal with that. Nobody does.”
“You think you deserve to be alone, then?” he asked in a low rasp.
