Page 75 of Choosing You

“I wasn’t screaming.” Or was I? I don’t remember screaming. At least not out loud.

“Yes, you were.” He says it softly. “You said that you weren’t me. I didn’t know what it meant, but I assumed you were mad at me for touching you.”

I’m not you. I’ll never be you.I hear the words in my head. They’re the words I say all the time.

“I wasn’t talking to you. Or about you. That’s not what I meant.”

“Then who were you talking to?”

“I can’t say.”

“Then tell me what happened that night. And why it happened again when I found you in my room that morning. You got so freaked out when I joked about leaving the TV on.”

All of a sudden tears are forming and despite my best efforts I can’t make them disappear. My throat gets dry and I get this heavy feeling in my chest. I move off him and sit beside him on the bean bag chair.

“I don’t want to talk about it. It won’t happen again, okay?” A few tears run down my face before I can catch them.

Garret’s watching me and spots the tears. “Shit!” He quickly takes me in his arms and pulls me into his chest. “Jade, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you cry. I was just trying to understand.”

The tears come faster no matter what I do to make them stop. I bury my head in his shirt so he can’t see my face.

“Jade, talk to me.”

I can’t speak. If I do, my voice will crack or be shaky and he’ll know that I can’t get this crying under control. And guys hate crying.Ihate crying. So the fact that I’m doing this right now is really pissing me off. A few minutes pass and the crying finally stops.

“Are you okay?” He gently lifts my chin up and I notice his shirt is wet from my tears.

“Yes. I’m fine.” I sit up and wipe my face. “Sorry I messed up your shirt.”

“I don’t give a shit about the shirt. And you’re not fine. Now tell me what’s wrong.”

“Nothing’s wrong.” My sadness turns to anger as I realize that I’ve shown him way too much of myself. “Just forget it.”

“We’re friends, Jade, and I don’t like seeing you like this.”

“Like what? Crying? I’m not allowed to cry?”

“It’s more than that. It’s something else. There’s something you’re not telling me. Just talk to me. Maybe I can help.”

“You can’t help, Garret. This is just something I have to deal with alone.” I almost cry again saying the word. Alone. It describes how I feel all the time, because I can’t tell anyone about this. And I’m so tired of feeling alone.

He rests my head back on his chest, then grabs a blanket sitting next to the bean bag chair and lays it over us.

We remain there in silence. And I wonder why I have to deal with this alone. Why I can’t just talk to Garret about this. If I had to pick someone to share this with, it would be him over anyone else.

“It was my mother,” I say barely above a whisper.

“What?” He moves my hair off my face. “Did you say something?”

“My mom.” I say it louder. “I was talking to my mom.”

There’s awkward silence. I’m sure he thinks I’m deranged. I shouldn’t have told him.

“Didn’t your mom die?” he asks cautiously.

“Yes, but sometimes I still hear her.”

“You mean like in your head,” he confirms.

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