Page 116 of Our Hearts Knew Better

Because it’snotsimple, it’s not just a bed, and my understanding becomes buried in the threat of fight or flight.

“Levi’s the one who found him,” I say, half through my teeth—fight. “He’s the one who’s been here with him. Talking to him. What did you expect?”

“I expected you to trust me,” Adam throws back, the color returning to his cheeks as his eyes swing back to mine.

I blink, clearing the grim twist in his face, a fresh damp feeling on my lashes. We’re still in the same but opposing worlds, him bringing this back to being about why he needed to come back, and me still withoutthoseanswers.

“Trust you withwhat? What is it you’re doing? Nothing’s changed! You’re just making life harder for us both. I told you I can’t do this anymore, and the only difference is you actually get yourself out of bed and you smell better.” I’m practically hollering with how I can’t control my increasing emphasis on every word, on my feelings, and Adam gives the same back.

“Doesn’t that show you something? Doesn’t that mean something? I’m doing the fucking best I can—”

A noise pops out of me, some crazed laugh, cutting him off with that and a, “Stop.” I never want to hear that phrase again. It’s become a scrape to my nerves. It’s people’s excuse to do the bare minimum and have that be enough. I know whatbestmeans and this isn’t it. “This isn’t your best because you’re still miserable and you’re still making me miserable with you!”

Every muscle in Adam’s body seems to be straining as he stares at me, more gloss to his unblinking eyes, mine a reflection as I sigh through the start of my next words.

“You’re unreliable, Adam. You don’t care about anything. You don’t bother—” A heave in my lungs cuts me off and I press my hand to my chest like that will settle it.

“Well there you go,” he sneers out. “I lost everything. What have you lost, besides me.” There’s no question in his tone, only brokenness. But like him, for so long, my pieces are now all I can focus on. And as he takes his backward recoil to the bed, myvision blurs at his navel where his shirt rides up, as he retreats from me, alwayshispity party, that familiar fall snapping at my insides, then from my mouth.

“Yeah, just go to bed. Curl into a ball. Don’tlistento me,” I sneer back, breaks now in every word, no breakthroughs in him.

He sits up with a smack to the bed, his mouth open, but mine opens again first.

“And no, you didn’t loseeverything. You still had me. I was a choice to lose.”

Adam’s eyes flare, like this is the worst of all I’ve said to him. “You think how I feel is a choice.”

“No,” I stress. “We don’t choose how we feel but we can choose what we do. I did. I still chose to love you,” I say, my voice catching on this use of the past tense, Adam’s eyes a slow blink toward the floor. “I pulled and I pulled at you. Got myself out of bed and dragged myself around withso muchweight on my chest, but I did it. And it’s been just as hard for me. This isn’t just about you,” I stress again, again, again, again. “What you go through isn’t just aboutyouwhen you have other people in your life. People you’re close to. People like me.” My hand finds my chest again, a thumping against bone that I don’t even feel from the ache underneath. “The one you hold against your hip. And you have to think about that. Think about me. But you don’t.”

Adam’s eyes lift to the dresser in front of him in another flare I can still see at the corners as he says with disbelief, “And you think about me.”

“I’ve always thought about you. It was all I could do!”

“Your expectations are too fucking high, Summer.”

My attempt at an inhale becomes knotted in my throat. He might as well have just walked away from me. He might as well have just given me silent treatment.

He gives me a glance, and I see some shame in his face, but not enough.

I can barely speak as I say, “Needing to be loved and considered is a high expectation?”

Adam springs off the bed. “You can’t put anything on me right now. I’m not strong enough!” He breathes through a heave in his lungs now, red lining his lids. And through the vulnerability we hold to each other in, through the rumbles of thunder and the pattering of raindrops above our heads, we see each other for how we’ve become. Almost strangers.

Right now.How much more isright now? We’re past a year.

“Maybe,” I manage through a murmur, half talking to myself, feeling like I am, “I need someone who is. I need someone with high expectations.” Those two words put strength back in my voice. “I need someone I know I can count on, who doesn’t turn me intothis.”

“You need someone—” He breaks off the word with a scoffed laugh. “Levi,” he says, like I’ve left blanks he’s trying to fill. “So did you do it?”

“Did I do what?” I hear the dare in my tone.

“Come on, Summer. You were alone with him, out of town…”

“No,” I say with a narrowed stare. “I didn’t. And I didn’t all theothertimes I’ve been alone with him.”

“You think he’s Mister Perfect. The someone who cares about you.” He reminds me of that heartbreak in a poking way that only makes me poke back.

Ask him. . .

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