Page 123 of Let’s Be Real

Many of my first pages started with, “Maybe if I’d…”

And every doubt and insecurity I’d ever had about myself became a list of what I could have changed in order to be loved.

But eventually, those sentences changed.

Maybe there was never anything I could have done.

I wrote about everything I was going to miss about them, and surprisingly, it was a lot. But the list of what I wouldn’t miss about them was twice as long.

The pages were filled with my angry scrawls, the ink blotted with tears.

On day thirteen, Nate was transferred to a residential facility in the mountains, two hours outside of Denver. Four hours daily in the car left me a lot of time to think, and not much time to do anything else.

My house was a mess. Ants were probably having a field day with all the crumbs on my counters. My laundry pile qualified as a mountain at this point. I couldn’t remember the last meal I’d eaten that hadn’t been prepackaged or from a drive-through window. I hadn’t slept a full night in over two weeks. I was running on energy drinks and determination.

Hence the breaking point.

It came on day seventeen, while I was getting ready to make the drive to see Nate. I kicked my pajamas out of my way as I searched for my shoes. They were nowhere. How could shoes be nowhere?

Dropping to my knees, I crawled on the floor, spotting one beneath the bed. I ducked lower, my head under the heavy wooden frame, and grabbed it. But I’d misjudged how far under the bed I was and whacked my skull on the edge of the frame. My arms slid out from under me, sending me sprawling on my belly, my forehead connecting with the hardwood.

For a beat, I was stunned motionless. Then my pain receptors fired to life, and a sharp ache shot through my skull and down my spine so fast it left me breathless.

I wasn’t grievously injured. I’d probably have a couple goose eggs. I was, however, utterly and completely defeated.

I stared at the floor and the shoe in my hand.

One stupid shoe had defeated me.

And suddenly, I couldn’t stop crying.

This was another thing on top of too many. I couldn’t even put my damn shoes on without struggling. When was it going to end?

I rubbed my eyes, so tired I couldn’t think straight. Or maybe that was the head injury. And the thought of sitting in the car for four hours made me cry harder.

But I had to. Nate was expecting me. There was no way I could cancel on him, even if I desperately needed to do a million things I’d put on hold, including taking care of myself in a meaningful way.

For one weak moment, a tiny awful part of me wished someone would tell me I didn’t have to go today.

Nate’s name flashing on my phone screen should have made me excited or fluttery or given me any sort of positive feeling, but it only made me cry so hard I missed his call.

As soon as it stopped ringing, I regretted not hearing his voice something fierce, and that was enough for my tears to dry up. I managed to call him back a minute later. My voice barely wobbled, but he heard it.

Of course he did.

“Hey, Natey.”

“Hey, Sammie,” he said gently. “Are you okay?”

Two words. That was all he’d needed. Because he was Nate. Before he’d gotten lost in the dark, he’d always seen me.

My heart twinged with the hope he was coming back.

“I’m okay.” I didn’t have the energy to put on a cheerful act, though. “I’m a little tired, and I bonked my head when I was looking for my shoe…”

“Shit. Did you hurt yourself?”

“Only my pride. Well…my skull a little bit, but nothing permanent.” I pinched my bottom lip when it started to quiver. “I didn’t expect to hear from you. I’ll be there in a couple hours.”