Page 41 of Haunt Me

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There will be more times I will not kiss her. I will be counting them, one by one. Six years later, I will remember exactly how many they were. I will remember them all.

But that was the first day I wanted to kiss her so badly I couldn’t stand it, but I didn’t.

It was also the day she gave me her phone number, telling me to text her if I have another panic attack again.

I remember that night I fell asleep smiling, my phone in my hand.

I hoped she did too. But I know now that she didn’t. She fell asleep thinking she wouldn’t wake up the next day. Thinking she was dying.

The whole time she was taking care of me, she didn’t once mention what she was going through. She was dying too, but she put that aside to help me.

I hate that she did that.

I hate that I didn’t know.

I hate that I never saw.

I just hate it.

….

The next day, Eden is crying under our tree. She is making no sound, but her face is bathed in tears, and she hiding behind her book, trying to not let me see.

I kneel next to her and grab that stupid book. I push the strands of hair that are plastered to her wet cheeks away. Her skin is burning and her whole body is shaking.

“What’s wrong, baby?” I pull her into my chest, and she cries against my shirt, soaking it with her tears. Real fear grips me. “You’re not alone,” I tell her. “I’m here,” I keep repeating. “I’m here. I’m here.”

She whimpers against my chest, and the sound of a wounded animal escapes her. I feel her wilt against me.

“Can you tell me what’s wrong? Are you sick?”

She tries to pull herself away from me, but she is shaking too violently. I swallow hard.

“Can I see if you’re hurt, baby?” I ask again. “Please?”

“No.” She starts shaking her head, and suddenly she is like a wild animal, struggling to get away from me.

“It’s ok, it’s ok.”

I catch her elbow as she turns to run away; she stumbles and falls to her knees, shaking.In pain, I realize. She is in that much pain. I drop to the ground too, but she sees my outstretched hand and pushes it away.

“Should I call someone? Should I call for help? Tell me what’s wrong, Eden.”

She looks up at me, eyes puffy from crying, mouth slightly open, chest struggling for air. I would give my life to stop her from being in pain.

“It’s too… embarrassing,” she says finally.

“Try me.”

I sit cross-legged on the dead leaves. She is still crouched awkwardly, a little ball on the ground, holding her stomach as if to let go would cause her to fall to pieces.

She goes silent again.

“Talk to me,” I say. “Please. Do you trust me?”

She nods.

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