He doesn’t say anything as I sit back against the sofa, pick my discarded glass back up, and down the last of it. I peek at him through my eyelashes. He’s sitting facing forward, staring blankly. It’s been an evening of secrets coming to life, and I’m not sure where we go from here.
Theo stands up and storms out of the room. I panic, not wanting him to do anything rash like hurt himself, so I rush after him and bang on the door he went through. “Theo, are you okay?” I call out, leaning my head against the door. “Please don’t do anything you’ll regret. I’m right here.”
“I’m fine, firefly. I’ll be out in a minute. I promise.”
I nod, still not liking him being behind a closed door, but I have to give him the space he’s asking for. I don’t want to push either of us too far. Tonight has been enough already.
Sitting on the sofa, I wait, listening as the clock on the wall ticks. Seconds turn to minutes, and before long, thirty minutes have passed. Then Theo finally walks out.
He looks worse for wear—blotchy face, red rimmed eyes, and a withdrawn look. My heart breaks for him all over again. I itch to walk over to him, to comfort him like he did for me. I wait in silence as hepaces the room and runs a hand through his long locks which have come out of his bun.
Finally, he says, “I’m sorry.”
I’m taken aback. That’s not what I was expecting him to say. “Why areyousorry?” I ask, standing up.
“For fucking everything up,” he replies. He’s still not looking at me, still pacing, still running a hand through his hair. His nervous energy is makingmenervous.
“You didn’t fuck everything up, Theo,” I tell him softly.
He spins around to face me, his face a mask of surprise. “How can you say that? If I’d have protected you instead of acting like a big baby, I could’ve stopped what happened to you,” he exclaims, arms flung wide.
Theo stops, almost as if something just hit him. “The way I’ve been with you,” he whispers. “I’ve manhandled you like some fucking asshole. Fuck!” He looks horrified before shoving his hands in his hair and tugging. “I’m such a fucking idiot.” Theo starts thumping the heel of his hand against his head, slowly at first, then getting harder and harder.
“Theo, please stop.” The emotion in my tone must get through to him because he stops immediately and looks at me with tears in his eyes. “I’m fine. It’s okay. Some part of me trusted that you’d never do anything to hurt me like he did. I was never worried where you’ve been concerned”—I curl my arms around my body—“but you have to understand… I haven’t forgotten; I never will. I’ve just learned to live with it. I’ve learned to put myself and my so—my life first. What happened that night isn’t any more your fault than it is mine. I don’t blame you for that. What Idoblame you for is leaving me altogether without talking to me.”
“I have Borderline Personality Disorder,” he blurts out, a sullen look on his face.
“I don’t know what that is,” I admit, but I'm grateful he’s opening up to me. I relax my arms by my side and take a couple of steps toward him.
“Where do I start?” He laughs, takes a few deep breaths, then continues. “I had a pretty shitty upbringing. Verbally and physically abusive mother and a stepfather who—” He visibly swallows, and my heart drops to my stomach. “A stepfather who sexually assaulted me as a kid.”
“No,” I breathe out, my hands flying to my mouth.
“Yeah. I took the punishments so Christie didn’t have to. Anyway… my therapist says that because of childhood trauma and neglect, I think differently from how ‘normal’ people do. I don’t feel like most people, don’t perceive things like most people, and I can’t relate to people.”
I always knew there was something different about him, and this confirms it. “So, like when Adam told us in college his aunt died and everyone was upset for him, offering him words of condolences, you didn’t seem bothered.”
He nods. “It’s a bit more complicated than that, but essentially, yeah. Mike, my therapist, explained it as having been through something so traumatic that I’m unable to be compassionate to people I’m not close to. I’m unable to offer them comfort because it was something I was never taught growing up. I don’t know how to care about people because the only way I was offered any affection was in the forms of fists, words, or… other abuse.”
“The way you got upset about me doesn’t make sense, though. You seemed compassionate then,” I muse, confused. How can he be one way but not another?
Theo runs a hand through his hair. “You’re someone… my brain thinks of as important… or you were, at least, so that means I’m protective of you. Those of us with BPD have intense feelings, very much ‘please love me, but also don’t leave me.’ Even though you’ve hurt me astronomically, I still crave your acceptance and forgiveness when I’ve fucked up.
“I’m either black or white; there’s no gray area with me. It either is, or it isn’t. If I feel out of control, whether through my own actions or others', I lash out in anger. I push people away and say mean shit so I can validate the inner thoughts of ‘you’re not good enough.’ I’m terrified people will leave me if I push them too hard with my behavior, yet I can’t stop it. It’s the same if I feel people don’t give me the attention I’m craving. They could have just had a shitty day or been tired, but I take it as a personal attack on me and assume they don’t love me anymore.”
He scoffs, putting his head in his hands and rubbing his face as he adds, “My childhood trauma didn’t make me stronger, it made me a fucking people pleaser. The problem is that I don’t trust anyone. Every single person I’ve let into my life—other than the guys—has screwed me over in some capacity or another.” He drops his hands and turns his gaze to me, his eyes filled with so much pain. “I thought you’d done the same thing.”
My heart breaks just a little bit more for him, that he’s been struggling with this for so long and no one knew about it.
“Okay, so how does this fit into what happened that night?” I want him to keep talking to me. I want him to tell me everything he’s kept buried. I want tohelphim.
“I struggle to form relationships with people.” He pauses, as if trying to gather his thoughts. “I’d never loved anyone the way I lovedyou, and seeing what I did? It brought back all the intrusive thoughts that circle my brain every. Single. Fucking. Day.”
“What thoughts?” I ask gently.
“I’m not good enough. Not a good enough lawyer, boyfriend, friend. Hell, I’m not even a good enough person. But I know I am. I love with every single fiber of my being. I love so hard it's a detriment to me sometimes, mentally and physically.” He starts pacing the room again, and I stand to watch him, transfixed by everything that’s happening.
“The night I found you, I didn’t have the instinct to hurt the guy. I just assumed you were into it. So, instead of fighting for you, I ran like a coward because that’s what my mind was telling me to do. It was telling me I’d never be good enough for someone like you,” he ends in a whisper.
