Page 79 of Script Swap
Fortunately, being rescued by Robert Mai, Adventurer to the North, had given me enough time to stop crying.And since Bobby was literally kneeling at my feet, I sounded like a complete idiot when I said, “Can I talk to you?”
He was Bobby, so he nodded.
“I’m sorry I got so upset when you were trying to help me,” I said.“Actually, I feel like that might be understating the case.I’m sorry I ran out of the house like a lunatic when you were trying to help me.”
“No, I’m sorry.I knew I was overstepping; I figured that out when we—” Bobby clearly didn’t want to saygot in a fight, so he settled for “—talked about your revisions.I knew I shouldn’t have stuck my nose in.But I was excited, and I might have this need to fix things.”
“You’re good at fixing things,” I said, running my fingers through his hair.I didn’t even think about it, but all of a sudden, it felt too much, too intimate, after weeks and weeks of feeling like we were far apart.But it was happening, and I couldn’t stop myself, and to my surprise, the world didn’t end.“I knew you were trying to help.”
“It’s your career, Dash.I’m not an expert.I don’t know what I’m talking about.I didn’t ask you what you wanted.I charged in with my advice like—”
“Like a man?”I asked.
A surprisingly boyish grin crooked across Bobby’s face.
“Bobby.”I paused, like I needed to take a breath, but to my surprise, the words came easily.“I’ve been in a weird place.A really weird place, actually.And I’ve been super unhappy.And I was scared to talk to you about it.”
Bobby stilled, but his hands were on my knees, and faint, invisible tremors ran through them.I kept my hand moving, combing his hair lightly.He swallowed.Something clicked in his throat.And then he nodded.
“Part of it—a big part of it—is that—” I gave the weirdest little laugh.“—I think I’m scared of writing.”
But Bobby didn’t laugh.His eyes didn’t flicker.Nothing.When I still didn’t say anything, he nodded.
“You knew?”I asked.
“I didn’t know.But I thought—Dash, up until a couple of months ago, the one thing you never got tired of talking about was writing.Ideas for stories.Or a new technique you wanted to try.Different characters you were excited to explore.”A hint of a sideways smile turned on his lips.“There was a lot more talking about writing, most days, than actual writing.”
“Oh.My.God.How dare you?”
But he didn’t rise to the bait.He stayed where he was, his hands trembling on my knees, like he thought he was about to be executed.
And I realized he was being brave.For me.
Which meant I needed to be brave too.
“And the other reason I’ve been so unhappy,” I said, “is us.”
He didn’t flinch.He didn’t close his eyes.But there was this—almost this relaxing, like he’d known it was coming, and now that it was here, he could stop dreading it.“Dash, I’m sorry.I haven’t been a good partner to you, and I promise I’ll do better.I know I haven’t—”
I shushed him.I gave his hair a little tug, and then I moved my hands to cover his, wrapping them in mine, holding him tight.“Can I tell you a little more, please?First?And then you can tell me whatever you want?”
The struggle showed in his face, but he was Bobby Mai; he nodded.
“I don’t like that I’m afraid of writing,” I said.“I’m—I’m ashamed of it, actually.Ashamed of myself, I guess.And it’s like this vicious cycle because then I’m angry at myself.I give myself these awful motivational speeches.‘If you’re ashamed of not writing,’ I tell myself, ‘then write.’And I go into the den, Bobby, and—and I can’t.I can’t explain it.I can’t even explain it to myself.I lock up or I freeze or whatever.And I still can’t write.”
He opened his mouth.But then he shut it again.
“I love you so much,” I said.“More than I ever thought was possible.I didn’t even know if love was real, but it is, Bobby, and it’s you.I was talking to Fox about writing, and they asked me why I wrote.And do you know what I should have said?I should have told them that I was writing to find you.Because my whole life, I’ve been writing to find you.I know that doesn’t make any sense, but I have.Every time I went into that place inside myself, I was looking for what it meant to care about someone, to love someone, to be in love.But you weren’t in a book.You were here.And I found you.”
Bobby’s frantic blinks couldn’t keep a tear from falling.It shone hot and silver on his cheek.
“And now we’re both here, and I love you, and—and I am so scared, Bobby.God, it feels like that’s the only thing I can say, but it’s true.I’m scared because nothing in my life is what I thought it would be.I thought I’d be an adult.I thought I’d have a career.I thought I’d be successful.”Pain constricted my voice.“I thought I’d be a writer.And I’m not any of those things.I’m still—just Dash.And I’m bumbling along, usually making things worse.And I’m not even a writer anymore.I don’t know who I am or what I’m supposed to be doing, and you’re so driven and motivated and good.You’re sogood, Bobby.At everything you do.And you’re smart and handsome.And I know it’s crazy.I know, okay?But I—” I stopped, because I heard the words the moment before I said them:I hate myself.Somehow, I stammered through something else, the words barely strung together.“—I look at you, and I don’t know why you’d want to be with someone like me.And I’m not asking you to explain or make me feel better or anything.I just need you to hear me say that.Because I don’t know how to stop feeling that way.I’ve tried going to the gym.I’ve tried contacts and changing my hair and stupid clothes and, God, Bobby, I miss sugar so much, and jogging is the absolute worst.And it doesn’t matter.It doesn’t change.I’m still me.And you deserve better.”
He got up slowly.He sat on the bed, and he pulled me against him.
We sat there for a while.His breaths were thick.My nose was stuffed.
“I’m sorry,” I said, wiping my face.“I didn’t mean to unload all of that on you.”
