Page 101 of The Breaking Pointe
25
unexpectedly
NOELLE
There’s something peaceful about watching the man who takes care of you get rest. After his long days and hard work he’s put in, he’s great to have on your arm, but will have nothing to give if he isn’t taken care of in the places he forgets. Sure, it’s his responsibility, but just like any other human, we forget some things and forget to take care of them. Colton is a man who forgets a lot. Forgetting to take medicine, forgetting his wallet and keys, and is fantastic at staying awake for unprecedented hours.
For once, it’s caught up to him.He wanted me to come over, and rather than spending time together, he’s making sweet love to his living room couch, snoring like a chainsaw. I could choose to be upset, but there’s no sense in that. I’m happy.He’s been running on empty for days, and even if it’s a light nap, I know he’ll wake up and feel like a brand newman.Everybodyfeelsbetterwhentheysleepwell.It’sa
proven fact. Not only do you feel better, but you look better. While he rests, it’s only right that I find a way to makemyselfuseful.SoItooktotidyinguphisplaceasmuchas I can before his eyes pry open and he tells me to stop. He’s pretty great at cleaning, but with everything going on with his mom, cleaning has been the last thing on his mind.So has sleeping, eating, and running.The running is new, butI noticed it after my third time this month asking him if he wantsto,andhimrespondingwith,“Canwedoanythingelse
in the world together?”in the sweetest voice ever.
It doesn’t really matter what we do. I’m afraid I’m in too deep now to care.I’m simply waiting until the idea of forever doesn’t sound like jumping off of a cliff to him.
This is my reward.Just him and I, together.Safe and sound. The moment I walk into the pit, Bonnie follows me and jumps onto the other couch, laying down. I look down at Colton who, unlike me, still has on art clothes, consisting of jeans and a sweatshirt, while I have on pajamas. His face is the calmest I’ve seen in a long time, but he’s sitting upright, which won’t feel good when he wakes up. I don’t want him to sleep in paint and uncomfortable fabric, but I also don’t want him to budge and wake up.Who knows when he’ll sleep again?
Carefully, I take his glasses off his face, laying them on the table. Then I begin to lift his sweatshirt, giving my best try at lifting it, only making it to his chest.
“You’re way harder to move than I thought,” I whisper, gently lifting his arm to pull it out of one sleeve, resting it on his lap. He doesn’t budge, not even a little. So I continue onto his other arm, lifting it the same way, and laying it down, swiftly pulling it over his head.
He groans softly, rubbing his bare stomach, but staying in his trance.
Satisfied, somewhat, I take the sweatshirt and walk to his room, putting it in the dirty clothes basket before I approach his dresser, dropping to the floor to open the bottom drawer. Grabbing the handle, I pull it out, grabbing the first t-shirt I see, only to reveal a box. Brown, old, and bent up. Tucking some hair behind my ear, I get comfortable, looking at the entrance of the bedroom before I quietly pull it out of the drawer and set it in front of me on the floor. Squinting my eyes, I read the faded writing on the top.
Throwaway
It’s still here,so I guess it’s too worthy to be thrownin the trash.But that’s bad because now I found it, and I’m tempted.It’s like Pandora’s box—and I’m dying to know what’s inside.Which goes against all my preaching of respecting people’s privacy.I’m here for a shirt, not to snoop.The sneaky, curious girl in me wants to know why it’s stuffed in his t-shirt drawer, covered and hiding.
Sighing, I close my eyes briefly, then lift the lid off of the box.
Aweddingring.
Pictures.
Movie and concert tickets.
The more I look, the more collectibles I can see, piled through the box.And a letter?I pick up the ring, staring deep into the glistening diamonds.
I’ve wondered what his life was like before me. He loved hard before I came around.I’m sure it has a lot to do with why he’s so hesitant to move forward with commitment. Itjust doesn’t make sense that someone could say no to a
rock this size, and a man who looks and behaves as he does. Maybe I don’t get it because I’m damaged, too.I wouldn’t be opposed to being damaged together. Sometimes it takes one to know one.
I pick up the letter, unraveling it from its firm fold, finding the beginning of it.
Dear Hannah,
I can confidently say that I’m not angry anymore. I know, now, that you and I were never meant to be. I used to dream that in different lifetimes that was untrue.It’s a shame to me that I couldn’t give you what you needed, when in the beginning of us, you would’ve disagreed with that statement.It gave me internal rage to think of that, and to think of any other reason why I wouldn’t make a good husband.How I pray that the reasons I’m not good for you, might be the reasons I make someone else complete. Either way, it doesn’t change my self-deprecation or my issues with my father. It’s never your fault that I struggle to display my affection, or can’t tell you what’s really eating away at my soul. That’s not up to you.
It’s my job to find solace on my own, and I’m sure that you were that.I felt positive that you felt the same as I, and that you made me better. Maybe that was the truth but all the while, I’m making you miserable.You never fancied my hobbies, or garnered my interests the way that I did, but I hope you know that I had passion for yours. That’s what love is. You saw who I was before I was anything, and I thought that was enough to save me and all of our setbacks. I’m vulnerable to you, and you only.
Maybe that’s a gift only we will ever share between one another.
I set you free from that torment. The torment of my existence. I hope he’s giving you what you need, the way I once thought I was destined to.
As for myself, I fear that love doesn’t exist in my future, and I’m foolish to believe it existed in this lifetime, at all. How could it, for someone like me?I apologize for ringing you into that fantasy of mine.
Even if you don’t get to read this. This is the truth. Sincerely,
