Page 33 of My Lovely Tragedy
As if I’d ever willingly die under a bridge. If I did, it’d be because I got murdered. Or my car got hit, and I veered off, nosediving into the concrete below.
At least then it’d be fast. But towillinglyfreeze to death?
Please. They know I hate the cold.
My molars grind continuously, setting a punishing ache in my jaw, but I can’t stop. I push harder. Make the ache worse. It’s better than taking it out on Tobias—which would be all too easy with his gentle ease, always justright fucking therewhen I need him.
But I don’tneed.It’s just nice.
Except not right now. Not when I’m this pissed off.
I’ve nearly lost most of the day stewing in my own version of self-centered excuses. Tobias, the saint he is, has left me alone up in his loft to rudely rifle through his belongings.
And I know he’s heard me—I’ve purposely been loud—but he hasn’t said a word, andthatpisses me off too. There’s no way the dude isn’t annoyed by my impertinence. By my lack of respect and boundaries.
But he’s just so… willing. Willing to take it. And it makes me want to…
“Ugh!” I shout as I shove another drawer closed, causing the wardrobe to knock against the wall. There were only endless neat rows of monochromatic boxer briefs soft as silk—the very same as the pair I’m wearing right now. Nothing to make it worth it.
It’s like he has no secrets. Nothing to hide beneath his underwear.
I plop back on the unmade bed, smacking my hands flat over the blanket. It’s thick and fluffy beneath my fingers, so I scrunch them, gathering material between each digit.
I can feel the heaviness of my depression creeping back in like the deadly vapor it is. My arms and legs already feel heavier, my mind more clouded. Each thought comes slower, with less urgency, and it’s nearly impossible to pull myself away from the feeling that’s grown to become a comfort. Something I know. Something I canexpectto be the same.
I know how to live with it—init.
With gritted teeth and unshed tears in my eyes, I force myself up, then down the ladder. I search out Tobias, finding him exactly how he was just minutes ago—laptop in front of him, leather-bound journal closed with the black fountain pen resting against the top.
He doesn’t turn at the sound of my footsteps, fingers clacking against the keys with impressive speed. I watch him for a moment, entranced by the speed at which he works—not only physically, but mentally, too.
I’ve gathered that he’s writing—that much is obvious—but what he’s writing specifically still eludes me, which only piques my interest.
My phone catches my eye from where it’s sitting on the counter, gleaming like a taunt. Benji’s words come rushing back, the implied expectations of everyone else.
I stomp over and swipe it up, curling my fingers around the flat edge for a moment before slamming it down. The loud crack of the screen connecting with the smooth, soapstone counter reverberates through the room.
I barely hear Tobias’s typing cease before I’m bringing my phone down again. And again. And again.
Miniscule shards of glass fly outward. Glass dust coats the counter, my fingers. But the anger twitching in my veins makes it impossible to stop—until long, strong fingers encase my wrist, halting my descent mid-air.
“I do believe it is broken, if that’s what you wished to achieve.”
I huff, the sound cracked and wet. I don’t even notice the sobs clogging my throat until they spill out, contorting my body and shrinking my lungs.
Tobias gently pulls my now ruined phone from my hand and slowly places it on the counter, a juxtaposition. He doesn’t move to console me, but he doesn’t step away either. And he doesn’t remove his fingers from my wrist.
His grip loosens slightly, allowing me movement, but I don’t. Ican’t.
My shoulders shake; my stomach concaves. Sobs wrack through my entire body, loud and painful and consuming. Snot drips from my nose, smearing across my upper lip, mixing with my tears in my mustache. Over my lips, inside my mouth.
It tastes bitter—my pain. Bitter and pathetic, but I can’tnotfeel it.
The heaviness sets in, and my legs give out without warning. I squeeze my eyes shut, preparing for the inevitable impact, but arms—so much stronger than I’ll ever be—wrap around my waist with the weight of a thousand bricks, strong and steady against me.
My head falls against Tobias’s chest unbidden, and I soak his sweater with my snot and tears. Shame fills my face with blood—red-hot and itchy—but he doesn’t speak of it. He doesn’t say a word; or at least, I don’t think he does, but it’s hard to hear anything over the sound of my pathetic whimpers and erratic heartbeat.
His fingers curl into my sweatshirt, causing the material to pull tight around my throat, and the constricting pressure makes each breath come a little easier.
