Page 71 of Keepsake

She moved in the bed, facing my way. I could only see the tip of her head. Everything else was covered by a blanket and darkness. Her dark brown hair was unkempt, her green eyes dull. I went to her, sitting on the edge of the bed. The first thing I did was to bring my palm to her forehead.

“Are you sick?”

“I’m ok,” she whispered.

“You don’t look ok, Jefa.”

“Aren’t you charming?”

I wanted to chuckle, but I couldn’t summon the humor. She wasn’t hot, but her skin was damp to the touch.

“What are you feeling?”

She didn’t reply, moving her eyes away from me and rubbing her chest.

“Logan?” I tried again. “You’re clearly sick. Tell me what’s happening.”

“Nothing is happening.” She moved to sit up. “Are the kids with your parents?”

I stopped her mid-action. My hand closed on her arms. She had to be sick because I didn’t even need to push hard to get her to lie down again.

“Tell me.”

“Alvaro…” She sighed. “Go home. Let me be.”

“Not happening.”

She had black under her eyes and her clothes were the same as she was wearing last night. Not even pajamas. Something wasn’t right here.

“If I tell you, will you go?” she bargained.

“Sure.” I lied.

Rubbing her forehead, she avoided looking at me.

“I sometimes get a little overwhelmed. It’s nothing. I’m not sick.”

My eyes narrowed at her little shitty explanation. Clammy skin, rubbing her chest.

“Did you have a panic attack?”

I didn’t need to be a doctor to know Logan suffered from anxiety. Anyone could see she accepted nothing but perfection of herself, and if I learned anything in my forty-six years on this earth it’s that wishing for perfection left you a disappointed wreck.

My hand came to the curve of her cheek, angling so she couldn’t escape my eyes.

“Yes,” she replied.

Nodding, I stood up and left the bedroom.

ThesecondAlvaroleftthe bedroom, I could breathe in peace. I hated feeling like this, and I wasn’t in the mood for an audience. It was one thing to be vulnerable, but to allow myself to do it in front of someone else was inexcusable.

In the back of my mind, I knew I needed a shower and food, but I couldn’t move. Each time I tried, I fell back to the bed with a stabbing pain in my chest.

I called it an early failure. When failure was coming for me, and even though it didn’t happen yet, my body felt it. My tongue could taste it.

That feeling left a weight over my body and a spear in my heart. My vision was fogged, my arms too weak to move. I stayed in the same position the whole day, allowing twenty minutes to feel sorry for myself and then I’d have to move on.

Time after time, my heart hurt too much to move.

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