Page 90 of Come to Me
It's not I won't. It's I don't want to.
So he might. He knows he might.
"But," he continues. "I'm not going to be able to do this if you keep locking me out."
He's asking for something I can't deliver. This won't end well. It will end in flames and tears.
But not yet. Not now. I have to push this aside, somewhere where it won't eat at me again. I was doing okay with talking before. I can do it again.
"I understand," I respond quietly. "But I really am tired."
He doesn't want the truth. He'll freak out. It's better to keep this to myself, so at least he'll be around.
"Ally."
"I'll talk to you later, okay?"
He hesitates. "I don't want to give up on you."
But, if I keep this up, he will.
"Goodnight." I hang up the phone before he has the chance to reply. Before he has the chance to confirm my suspicions that he can't put up with me much longer.
* * *
A day passeswithout any word from Luke.
We don't text or call or email. I sleep in late and spend forever on the couch nursing yet another cup of coffee. I skip my usual oatmeal. As far as I can tell, everyone is against me eating it anyway. I may as well eat nothing.
When I get a similar urge to skip lunch, I call Angela.
I'm not letting myself backslide. Not after I worked so hard on my recovery.
Not even if things aren't going well with Luke.
"Hi Alyssa," she greets me. "How are things going?"
"Not great," I admit, taking a deep breath.
The conversation isn't long, but it grounds me.
I eat my skipped bowl of oatmeal for lunch.
But that doesn't mean everything is fixed.
My Kindle becomes my enemy instead of my best friend. The once-comfortable breezy chick lit mocks me. I can only readWar and Peacefor so long before I'm convinced life is a bleak shit hole, and I can't stomach these sassy quests for satisfaction.
Eventually, I go to the gym, shower, and take a silent subway ride to the theater. The only break from my numbness is performing on stage. It's the only place where I can feel things without imploding.
Nicholas invites me out for a drink.
He asks about Luke and I try to distract him by changing the subject.
It doesn't work.
"Look, you're definitely off," he says bluntly. "And it doesn't take a genius to figure out it probably has something to do with Luke."
I sigh, looking down at the shiny surface of the bar.
