Page 91 of Lotus

Oliver moves in for a kiss, but I yank my arms free and shove him away from me. The adrenaline spike heightens my strength, and I accidently push him too hard, with too much force. He crashes into my decorative side table, toppling over the picture frames, causing me to cup my mouth in horror.

Horror from inadvertently hurting him.

Horror from whatever the hell just transpired.

Horror from the look in his eyes when his guise disintegrates andmyOliver returns, his chest heaving, his guilty gaze pinned on me as his head swings from side to side.

“Sydney… I didn’t mean…” He lifts off the table and covers his face with his palm, as if trying to hide from what he’s just done. “Please forgive me.Please.”

I’m glued in place with tears rushing down my cheeks like tiny waterfalls, my heart beating a mile a minute. I’m rattled, confused,hurt.

Oliver slides his hand down his face, holding his jaw as his own tears shine back at me. “I thought that’s what you wanted. Your books, I…” He exhales a sharp breath of pain that stabs like a dagger. “Your books are filled with men who take and push, who are selfish and unkind—who arenothinglike me. I mistakenly assumed you preferred a man like that.”

I need to dig through the growing surge of heartache in my throat to locate words. “Those are stories, Oliver. Fantasies.Fiction.”

“I just…” He’s wide-eyed and broken. “I’m trying to understand you, Syd. I’m trying to learn why you pull away from me—why I can’t fully reach you. Why yourun.”

“Because I’m petrified of stripping away your progress and sending you back down into that hole!” I blurt, sorrow leaking out of my eyes, my throat stinging. “Feelings come with expectation, Oliver. I’m no good at that.”

“Youhealme. Every day you put another piece of me back together,” he insists, crossing the room, cautiously approaching. “Why do you associate attachment with suffering and loss?”

I’m openly crying into my palm, shaking my head.

“God, who hurt you, Sydney?”

“Youdid!” I shriek, unplanned and untethered, my hysteria bubbling over. “Something inside of me fuckingdiedthe day I lost you!”

Oliver freezes in place, his eyes flaring, his limbs going completely still. He stares at me, slack-jawed, with the most wounded, bewildered look upon his face.

“I started building walls at only seven-years-old,” I continue, my voice ragged from the grief spilling out, a tsunami of bottled-up ghosts. I ambush him with my graveyard. “Day by day, those walls went up, made of stone and brick and steel andyou. I couldn’t let anyone in because I couldn’tbearto feel the way I felt after you disappeared. Not again… not ever. You have no idea what you meant to me. What youmeanto me.” The heel of my palm slams against my chest with clenched teeth.

“Syd, I…” He trails off, lost for words.

I keep going. “I’ve spent my whole life keeping people at arm’s length because it’s how I cope, how I protect myself. And yes, I’ve been with men, that’s no secret… but it’s never meantanything.” I find his eyes, and they are just as tear-filled as mine. “With you, it would meaneverythingand that scares the shit out of me.”

Oliver drinks in my words, studying me, trying so hard to understand. He looks down at the floor, scattered with glass and debris from the fallen frames. Then he whispers so softly, “A wise woman once told me that there is beauty to be found everywhere. Even in the things that scare us.”

Chin quivering, I suck in a sharp breath and swallow down his words, tasting his truth. “Oliver, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry I’ve confused and hurt you when all I’ve tried to do is protect your beautiful heart,” I say, stepping towards him.

He moves back, away from me. “I… I should go.”

“You don’t want to talk about this?”

“No, I fear I’ve done enough damage.” Oliver glances down at the mess near his feet. “Forgive me, Sydney. I never meant to frighten you.”

“Wait, it’s okay—”

He spins around towards the doorway.

“Oliver, I understand,” I call out. “I know you didn’t mean it.”

Hand on the doorknob, he pauses to peer at me over his shoulder as he deflates with defeat. “It appears we continue to hurt one another, despite our greatest efforts not to. It’s a paradox.” Oliver’s gaze drifts past me, his forehead wrinkling with contemplation. He lets out a remorseful sigh and opens the door. “Love is a paradox.”

Oliver leaves me with those words, with his confession, as I collapse onto the shards of glass, bringing my legs up and sobbing into the valley between my knees. At some point, I drag myself to the couch and curl up beside my cat, clutching the photo of Oliver and me to my aching chest.

All these years, I’ve never given my heart to anyone. I told myself it was because I was too picky, too independent, my standards were too high… but that’s not the truth.

The truth is, I didn’t have a heart to give.

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