Page 79 of Ugly Truths
I clench my hand into a fist, my fingernails digging into my palm to distract from the aching in my chest.
How did I mess this up so badly?
I whisper another apology, but he’s quick to interject. “Please stop apologizing. This—you shouldn’t feel like you can’t text me.” The line goes silent for a long moment before Silas breaks it, his voice gentler. “Can I come pick you up?”
My mouth opens to answer, but nothing comes out.
Is that even a good idea?Once the relief settles, will he go back to hating me for the rest of the day? I’m not sure I can handle that at the moment. The idea of being left alone in that house when I have nowhere else to go feels like its own form of punishment.
He brings me back with the softest request, “To talk about it in person. Please.”
A sad smile curves to my lips at his defeated plea.
“Okay.”
Silas exhales. “Thank you,” he whispers. “I’m sorry. It’s not an excuse, but I’m still trying to figure this out.”
I bite the inside of my cheek. “I know, it’s okay.”
“It’s not okay. You’ve done nothing wrong.”
A small, pitiful laugh bubbles up from my throat before I answer, “I’ve done plenty wrong.”
He sighs. “I mean, when I get like this, I…” he trails off, letting out a frustrated huff while searching for the right words. “I don’t want to be like this.”
I wince.
It’s impossible to wrap my brain around the idea that I’ve been unraveling the discipline of a man whose emotions are so tightly reined in that they might as well be engineered, thread by thread.
Or the fact that he still wants to forgive me for everything I’ve done.
“How about we just focus on today?” I suggest, running my fingernail along the seam of one of the subtle florals stitched on the comforter. “Let’s work on that and see how it goes.”
“I can do that,” he agrees. “Let’s fix today.”
My mouth turns up into a more genuine smile. “Okay.”
“Hang tight. I’ll be there in fifteen.”
“See you soon.” I don’t wait for his response before hanging up.
My lock screen illuminates as I tilt my phone, displaying the photo I took in the attic last week. There’s a blurred movie in the background, my bare legs tangled with Silas’s sweatpant-clad ones on the couch. The soft lighting makes everything in the image seem muted and warm.
It’s the most courage I’ve had to take any photos of him or us together. My cheeks were so hot when I took my phone out to snap the picture, and Silas barely tried to hide his smug smirk as he watched.
His composure only seemed to break the next morning when he realized I had set it as my wallpaper. In seconds, his eyes turned molten as they flicked back and forth from me to the phone.
“We’re done talking,” I call out, turning my head just enough to see Natalie crack open the door with a sheepish look on her face.
She opens it wider, but leans against the doorframe instead of entering, her fingers still on the handle. “You okay?” She scans my face from top to bottom.
I shrug. “I think so. He’s coming to pick me up so we can talk.”
Natalie’s jaw works as she considers my answer, arms crossing over her chest. “If there was anything remotely normal about this relationship, I’d be telling you to run for the hills because this hot-and-cold treatment is very unhealthy.”
The space between my eyes starts to ache, and I rub it, nodding.
She picks herself off the door and rounds the bed, patting my knee as she returns to her ladder. “He’s going to figure it out,” Natalie continues, trying to convince herself of it as much as she is me. “By the end of all of this, it’s going to be worth it.”
