Page 41 of When I'm Gone

I tried to get a job, but with no identification, no address, or no high school diploma, I kept getting turned away. If a girl that used to go to my youth group hadn’t seen me in the park and introduced me to her cousin who lives in a tiny place in Tampa with a pullout couch, I’d still be on the streets. But Aaron says I deserve the best he can offer, so he told me not to worry with a job, he’d give me everything I could ever need or want. So getting a gift hadn’t felt right, I’d be making him pay for his own anniversary gift. But there is something I can do that doesn’t cost anything. I can’t wait. There probably should be a frame, but it took me longer to finish than I’d thought, so maybe we can pick one out together. Hang it in our bedroom.

When his key turns the lock, I can’t hold back an embarrassinglittle squeal. I laid the sketch out on the dining room table so he’ll see it the second he walks in. I’m tucked away beside the refrigerator so that I can see his reaction.

My heart is in my throat as he ambles up and sees what I did. I pull my bottom lip between my teeth so I don’t make any more noise. I watch as he lays three fingers on my sketch to turn it. He barely spares it a second’s inspection before he scoffs and crumbles it in his fist.

Chase’s warm hand on my thigh finally pulls me back to reality. That particular memory stings like a hot branding iron. That was the first time he screamed at me until his voice was hoarse and I fell asleep sobbing while he felt miles away, comfortable and firmly on his side of the bed. My filter sucks around Chase at the best of times and this is certainly not that. Maybe that’s why I can’t stop myself from blurting, “Have you ever had a boyfriend?”

Pale eyes assess me for a minute before he flicks his blinker on and turns down another street. “Yes. I had a boyfriend in high school,” he answers easily. His tone is careful, but the information is freely given.

“Did y’all ever fight?” I’m on a roll today. Awesome. That’s not usually considered a get to know you question. He can probably see right through me. See just how ugly I am on the inside.

“Umm. Maybe argued a little about what movie to watch or if we were going bowling or skating for a date, but overall no.”

I fucking knew I was the problem. “Oh.”

So caught up in my head, I don’t even notice we pulled into a parking spot until he puts the car in park and turns to face me. “Arguing a bit here and there can be pretty normal. People get frustrated trying to get their point across and all that. I’m the one who’s not good at it. Seems kind ofcounterproductive most of the time, if you ask me.” He seems hesitant but keeps going. “But if the person you’re sharing your life with can’t respect you, even if they’re mad, that’s where problems start happening.”

My voice is weak, broken. “What if it was my fault we were fighting to begin with?”

It was always my fault. I was the screw-up, new to the adult world and adult relationships. How could he respect me when I could never do anything right?

Chase takes my hand and squeezes. “Sweetheart… I may be way the fuck out of line here, but it seems highly unlikely that you were always at fault. It takes two people to make a relationship work and approach matters.”

I don’t know what he means by that last part, and I don’t even want to ask. I feel like such a fucking moron already. My eyes burn and my throat is painfully tight. I manage a nod, which Chase must deem as acceptable because after one last squeeze, he lets my hand go and gets out. I miss the contact immediately. He rounds the car and opens the passenger side door for me. Numb, I go through the motions with him, wishing with my whole heart that I could be invested.

He takes me out for pizza because I was too good for the home-cooked meal his dad prepared, walks around the neighborhood with me afterwards, showing me where he and his siblings used to frequent becausesome sunshine will make you feel better.

Fucking annoying thing is that it works a little bit. After half an hour, we make our way back to the car and he drives us home. The afternoon is spent lounging around at his parent’s house. He offers several times to go up to the guest room with me so I can lie down for a bit, but I’m still not in the best headspace. Instead, I just watch him interact, likethis is an aquarium exhibit. He bickers with his brothers, snipes playfully with his sister, treats Sage like a little princess and jokes with his parents.

I’m fascinated.

This side of him is entirely new. I feel like Chase and I went about things backwards. We skipped right over the casual stuff, likeare you close with your familyandwhat was it like growing up in Chicagoand went straight to,hey, I’m barely holding it together and I can’t fucking do this alone anymore. The transition seems easier for him, but I’m the one being flayed open here. What makes it worse is that I like him. Like, really like him. He makes me feel safe and heard and not nearly as crazy as I actually am. He’s the most gorgeous person I’ve ever laid my eyes on—miles of golden skin decorated with tattoos, easy smiles and eyes that damn near glow in the dark.

The casual little touches are going to drive me insane. It’s always something, especially when he knows I’m having a hard time. A hand on my leg or brushing my hair out of my face, maybe rubbing little circles on my back with his calloused hands. He’s so fucking affectionate, and it might be the best thing in my life. But I have no idea how to read it. If I wasn’t hanging on by a thread, I’d be on my knees in an instant. Hell, maybe even ask if he wants to go on a date. I could do that; date, that is. It might be nice to start fresh.

But instead, I’m not able to go more than six hours without some kind of breakdown that he’s got to hold my hand through. Not exactly romantic.

Hell, he has every single reason to not be interested in me. Not in the slightest. He couldn’t find anything worth a damn in my soul with a microscope.

Seems like Chase would be better off if I didn’t exist, and I could do with some forever sleep.

Sage comes to a sliding stop right in front of me on the couch with a lopsided grin and a gleam in her eye. “Eassin!” she exclaims.

“What’s up, Parsley?”

Chase snorts while Logan sends me an insincere death glare. “You should…” The dramatic storyteller, it seems, leaving me in suspense as to what I should do. “Open your box! I can help!”

Margeaux and Adam wear matching expressions of pure shock, mouths gaping suddenly frozen mid-task. Emerson mutters a curse as Logan rushes over to scoop up her child, looking wildly uncomfortable. I turn to Chase who looks sheepish.

“What does she mean? What box?” I’m thinking she means the small bag with my clothes in it. Maybe she saw it upstairs and wants me to unpack.

Adam clears his throat as he braces his forearms on his knees and looks squarely in my direction. “Lo, take the baby upstairs and put on one of her shows, please.” He doesn’t even glance her way. I’m officially nervous. “Tell me,” I demand.

Scratch that, I’m going to dissolve into a puddle of panic in this fucking basement.

“Look, son,” he begins. Christ on a cracker, why does that hit me square in the chest? “We weren’t sure if now was the right time for this, but well, toddlers.”

Chase pushes off the couch, whispers he’ll be right back and jogs up the stairs after Logan. The spike of betrayal that causes is unexpected. Why would he abandon me now? Par for the fucking course.

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