Page 93 of When Fate Breaks
I haven’t seen or spoken to him since the scene in the office earlier. Post door slamming, all of the houseguests quickly trickled out, leaving my family and a few other of Kyle’s close relatives to sit in awkward silence, waiting for what felt like an eternity for Blake and Emily’s combined sobs to slowly fade out from the background.
I force my eyelids shut.
Well, I guess we’ll never know.
They immediately snap back open.
I can’t do this. Can’t lay here any longer. I feel like I’m going to crawl out of my skin.
I pull the quilt covering me back, slowly easing off of the couch. Steph’s quiet snores drown out all noises of squeaking leather and my bare feet padding across the hardwood floor. I feel completely in a daze. I don’t even realize where I’m going until I’m standing outside of Blake’s bedroom door.
I grab hold of the handle, blowing a deep breath out before cautiously easing the door open. My eyes adjust quickly to the moonlit room and I barely startle, surprised but also not surprised at all, when I see Blake wide awake, laying flat on his back in his bed with his arms behind his head, staring straight up at the ceiling just as I had been for hours before resorting to counting books. He’s in a white t-shirt and plaid boxers and has all of his sheets and covers rumpled up at his feet, as if he wasn’t able to get comfortable either.
I hesitate in the doorway, fidgeting with my hair and sleep shorts. After a few seconds, I panic, regretting my decision, and start to pull the door closed.
“Hey.”
I freeze at the sound of Blake’s weak detached greeting.
“Hey,” I whisper, inching the door back open.
Blake remains silent, staring at the ceiling.
“Sorry. I– I just–” I sputter.
“Yeah?” Blake asks, turning his head to look at me.
I let out a huff, closing the door behind me and taking a few steps into the room, crossing my arms over my chest as I reach his bedside.
“I was just going to come in here to ask you if you were okay. But then I realized that’s a ridiculously stupid question.”
Blake’s eyes trail up and down my figure as I stand there awkwardly. When they meet my face again, he speaks. “Yeah.”
My shoulders perk up. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” he confirms.
I feel relief wash through me and warm my cheeks.
“Itisa stupid question.”
My face falls.
Oh.
Not ‘yeah’ as in ‘yeah, I’m okay.’
Feeling like a complete idiot, I mumble something along the lines ofsorryand turn to leave, but Blake stops me, shooting out his hand to grab mine. When I turn back, I see the slightest of smirks pulling at the corner of his lips.
“But I suppose it’s the sentiment that counts,” he says, sitting up on one elbow.
I fully face him, taking a step closer.
“I’m not okay,” Blake states.
My heart instantly sinks in response. Of course he’s not okay. I knew that. But hearing it straight from Blake makes my beyond empty tear tank feel like it’s about to magically refill. For someone to admit they’re not okay,especiallysomeone like Blake…they usually have to bereallynot okay. I scan my brain for anything I can say, anything I can do to help. But nothing comes.
Why am I not better at this?
