His gaze seems to unfocus for a moment as he stares out into the pub, and I fight the urge to reach across the table and touch him. But I just wait, watching him blink and adjust on his stool, until his attention returns to the beer in front of him.
“But it felt like you were leaving me,” he says.
A soft breath escapes me. “I never wanted to leave you.”
He bites his lip and runs his fingers along his glass, like he’s trying to find the right words. Or to build courage for what he really wants to say… and my stomach tightens as I brace for what’s about to come.
“I always wanted you to do whatever you wanted,” he says, keeping his eyes down. “I was always happy for you. You worked so hard, and you deserved everything. And I also always knew I wasn’t going anywhere, so eventually… it just got really hard.” He lets out a heavy breath. “I looked forward to every summer and every break you were home. But when they got shorter, or didn’t happen…” He trails off, and I nod slowly.
I understand what he’s saying. And I also understand that the whole thing was just a really shitty situation for us to be in.
“It was tough to manage it all…” I say softly.
He nods, still staring into his beer.
I fidget with my own fingers around my glass. “But I really wanted you to be a part of it.”
He nods again and swallows hard. “I know. I did too.”
And he doesn’t have to say anything else for me to know what’s going on inside him, as I see the hurt and pain written all over him.
I know he wanted it. I know he tried. But I also know he gave up on himself when it didn’t work. And giving up on himself made it look like he gave up on me too.
He looks up at me again, and hesitation flickers in his gaze before he blinks it away. “Did you think I chose to leave you?”
I bite my lip, letting my thoughts swirl and settle. “I did,” I say. “I wanted to share everything with you, but…” I shake my head. “I could see how much it hurt you.”
His brow creases, and he shakes his head. “You being happy didn’t hurt me. I was happy for you.” He pauses for a moment, his forehead scrunched in thought as his eyes shift to something behind me. “What hurt was being left behind. But I know that’s not your fault, and I don’t blame you for it…” He releases a frustrated breath, shifting on his stool and dropping his gaze to the table. “I don’t know, I don’t know how to…” He shakes his head again and releases another frustrated noise. “I don’t fucking know.”
I watch him as he brings a hand to his head and releases a heavy sigh. And I can’t help but pause and admire him for a moment.
Silas used to be a ticking time bomb. He exploded over seemingly small things, and he held onto anger as if it were a lifeline. And I understand it. I always did. I hate labels, but he has two that people are quick to reach for when they look at him, before they ever bother to see the actual person underneath them. His trauma is rooted deep inside him, making it difficult for him to feel safe with others, and his learning disability affectshim in so many ways, far beyond reading and writing. Feelings and thoughts have always been a hard language for him to translate, especially when the stakes are high.
And right now, the stakes are high.
But what I admire most about him right now is his growth. He’s here, he’s trying, and he’s looking for understanding instead of reaching for a fight. And even though I know this is incredibly hard, he’s not leaving, he’s not yelling, and he’s not slamming his fists to the table.
Although it seems like now his coping strategy is to internalize everything and shut everyone out.
“Just let it out,” I say. “I don’t care what it is, how it comes out, or if the words don’t make sense. I don’t care. I just want to hear it. All of it, no matter what it is. I’m not going to get mad.” I pause, feeling the risk of my next words, but I push through anyway. “I want to help you.”
He lowers his hand from his head and looks at me, his eyes full of everything and nothing at the same time. Then he shifts his gaze out to the bar again, and his chest rises as he pulls in a deep breath.
“I loved you,” he says.
My heart lurches so hard it hurts.
“More than anything,” he continues. “You were safe. And then you became unsafe.”
I swallow hard, and the back of my eyes sting as I blink back the threat of tears.
He shakes his head. “But not because of anything you did.”
Confusion is written all over him as his brow creases and his jaw twitches, like he’s figuring this all out right here in this moment.
“I know you tried,” he says, his gaze still fixed somewhere past me. “I didn’t go visit you again. But you had to be there.” His finger starts picking at his thumb, and I notice the way his voicecatches with those last words. “I was just going to hold you back. You always had to look after me. I’m not enough to make anyone stay, but youcouldn’tstay. I had to lose you. And it hurt even though I knew it had to happen, and I…”
His eyes squeeze shut, and he looks down, bringing his hand to his head again.
