Page 103 of The Space Between
“I didn’t mean to hurt you.” He says.
“Then why do you keep doing it?” I ask.
Silence. The kind that hurts more than yelling. The kind that feels like maybe this is the end of something that never really began.
Then, he says it. Soft. Barely above a whisper. “I don’t know how to need someone without hating myself for it.”
I blink.
Well, shit.
That’s the most honest thing he’s ever said to me.
He runs a hand over his mouth. “Molly—she needed me. Aubree did, too. And I let them down. I drove them into that river, and I lived when they didn’t. Every time I start feeling something for you, I rememberthat.And I panic. I pull back. Because needing you feels like inviting that nightmare all over again.”
My chest aches but I don’t move toward him.
He has to come to me.
“I get it,” I say. “But you don’t get to use your grief as a reason to treat me like I’m disposable.” I say, clear and firm.
“I’m not. I mean… I am. I have. But you’re not. I—you’re not disposable, Blakelyn.” I hear the turmoil he’s under.
“Then,show me.Prove it. Because I feel like I’m just a warm body… and I don’t like feeling like that, Gruene.” I whisper.
He looks at me like I’m both the fire and the water. And then, he crosses the kitchen. He reaches for me, but he doesn’t kiss me. He just holds my face in both hands and presses his forehead to mine. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry that I made you feel that way. I don’t want to keep running,” he breathes. “But I’m scared as hell to stop.”
I close my eyes and inhale deeply. Then, I open them. “Then stand still… for once. Stand still and let meseeyou.”
We don’t havesex but he doesn’t leave either.
We lie in bed, fully clothed, facing each other. We just breathe.
Just being.
I fall asleep with his hand in mine.
There are no promises. There are no lies. There’s just one small truth…
Maybe this is what healing looks like.
Maybe this is the beginning of something that hurts… less.
Gruene
I don’t sleep.I can’t.
I lie there in her bed, on top of the sheets, my arm resting over her waist, and I listen to the rhythm of her breathing, steady and slow against the storm of mine.
Her hand’s still curled in mine. She hasn’t let go… not after what I told her.
I confessed… bared my soul.
I admitted what I haven’t said out loud in six years—that needing someone makes me feel like a loaded gun with the safety off.
But she just held my eyes and said,“Then stand still. For once. And let me see you.”
I did and I’m still here, even now, with every muscle in my body screaming at me to run.
