Page 55 of Falling Backwards
She’s grown even more breathless than she does when she’s telling me off for something.Her eyes are glistening where they’re stuck on the ceiling.She steeples her hands over her nose.
My own breaths have sped up because…well, not only do I get the gravity of this as best a guy can, but no matter what we’ve been through, I also hate seeing her near tears.It’s an unstoppable response—I can’t do a single thing about it, can’t talk myself out of it or detach from it.That was true eight years ago and it’s true now.Seeing Maggie cry is something my heart doesn’t like.
She drops her hands and exhales unsteadily.
“But hey,” she says, “you know, it’s possible I’m being overdramatic.It’s possible this is all nothing and I’m scared for nothing.He’s probably gonna leave any minute now and never bother me again, right?Because why wouldn’t he?No one obsesses over another person in real life, do they?Just in movies and stuff?”
After noting that we remain the only two people in the area, I take my time looking at her.Take my time absorbing everything she’s said, everything she must be feeling.
I can only pin down some of how it makesmefeel.For the most part, I’m as much of a tangle as she is.
“I’m sorry,” she says again, not waiting for me to figure out how to reply.Her throat is audibly tightening.“I’ve wasted enough of your time.You can forget I brought this up to you.I’ll just—um—” Her words falter into a whimpery noise that tells me she doesn’t actually know what she’ll do.
This normally composed girl really is disturbed by this.
She’s so disturbed that she’s askingme—the guy she’s spent forever detesting—for help.She’s not merely telling me what has her upset, she’sasking me for helpwith it.
‘Oh, can I trust you?’resurfaces in my memory.
Without looking at me again, she moves to slip out of the alcove.“I’m sorry.”
And I throw a blocking hand out, catching her at the waist, stopping her.
We both have hitching breath at the contact.
It makes me wonder if her heart is skipping beats like mine is—if she can’t help noticing how my hand feels, just like I can’t help noticing how soft she….
My chest feels so weirdly tight, it’s like I’m holding my breath, though I’m definitely not.
“Maggie, wait,” I finally manage.
She takes a step back from my hand.Her damp eyes drift up to my face.I can see color coming into her cheeks.
When she snapped that trust thing at me the other day, I knew there was very real resentment behind it.However, all the words that have poured out of her these last few minutes are telling in their own way.They’ve revealed that some part of her, tiny and reluctant though it may be,isstill capable of trusting me.Some part of her doesn’t think I’m the ultimate bad guy.
That weird feeling in my chest intensifies.
She has surprised me a couple of times lately with the not-angry things she’s chosen to say and do, but this is on a whole different level.
And we do have a hard time getting along, but I have to admit she isn’t a true blight on the human race—I’d be ridiculous to act like she is, because way worse people walk the earth.Does she piss me off?Yes.Do I literally hate her?No.
If I did, the thought of someone bothering her wouldn’t botherme, and it does.
In fact, it stings to think any bit of her believes I care so little about her that I would wave off an earnest plea for help just because she’s a professional at getting on my nerves.That talent doesn’t warrant me abandoning her to potential harm.
I would never do that.
And this guy Kyle might finish his drink and leave her be, but he also might not.He might hang around and continue casting a shadow over her night.
She hasn’t tried to walk away again.She’s still looking up at me, waiting like I asked her to, so I actively take in the sight of her once more.Flustered, shaken, frail.Damp-eyed.
Vulnerable.
Folding in on herself, looking cold even in the sweater I now know is cozy and thick, glancing around….
I remember, too, how she said,‘Luke, I’m scared.’
“I’ll do it,” I tell her.
