Page 132 of Ask Me Something

“Take a good look at me. I’m not the girl you think you know.” I took a deep breath. It was best he knew all of it to save him the energy of thinking he could love someone like me. “I have an anxiety disorder. I’ve had it all my life, but the attacks started when I was sixteen, and I found out I was adopted by having my crack-addict mother come to school during lunch to ask me for money. My parents kept it from me my whole life. Three years ago in Miami when I received that call, and we had our almost-night: panic attack. Puking my guts up after Jamie left—You guessed it correctly, another one.” I paused, taking in his wide eyes and shocked expression. I was fire hosing him with my confession, but I couldn’t stop now that the seal was broken.

“I throw up before each and every pitch like clockwork and shake so badly afterwards that I’m absolutely exhausted. I wear a black hair tie on my wrist to snap whenever I’m anxious, which is All. Of. The. Fucking. Time.” I showed him my wrist since I’d worn one to the party. “And the truth is: Maybe I’ve never told you that I miss you or shared my feelings because I realize now that it doesn’t matter how I feel, this relationship could never work. As much as I wish I was, I’m not the girl that you respect or that you thought you knew. I promise if you did know me, you wouldn’t miss me at all.”

“That’s not true.” Scrubbing a hand over his face, he looked completely overwhelmed with the barrage of information. “If you’d give me a chance, we can figure this out. Have you seen a therapist about your anxiety? Maybe we could go together.”

I squeezed my eyes shut and fought the tears. Just when I thought I’d hit my lowest point, having him feel sorry for me was so much worse. “Stop, please.”

“Sorry, I know I’m getting ahead of myself. We can take it slower. But I can even ask Mark for his therapist’s name. He’s up in Connecticut, and I hear he’s really good. I only want to help you—”

And there it was. The unmistakable sound of what I’d tried to avoid my whole life. Someone seeing me as broken. My utter humiliation was complete. I was officially at rock bottom and Brian, someone I respected and who had once respected me had a front row seat. “I know that you’d like nothing better than to help. Part of it is because you’re a good guy, the other part may have something to do with trying to control the circumstances. But I can’t do this.” My heart was breaking, but a happily ever after wasn’t in my future. So I said the only thing I could to get him to let me go: “This isn’t working for me any longer. I’m sorry.”

“You don’t mean that.” His voice shook with emotion.

I took an unsteady breath and walked through the door. I needed to leave before I became selfish and clung to him.

“Sasha, wait—”

I turned, desperately wishing I could be the girl he thought he loved. “I’m not Sasha-B-Fierce. I never was.”

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