Page 74 of Dating After the End of the World
“You look worried,” Blake says.
He’s not wrong. I am worried, and as much as I want to remain optimistic that he’ll be fine, assure myself that the worst thing that could happen isn’t the thing that’s going to happen, I know there are no guarantees. I don’t know what his odds are, so I have to assume he has just as good of odds to turn as he does to stay who he is. It’s out of my hands, though, and that’s the hardest thing to accept, especially as a doctor. I can recall many times staring at the face of a dying patient, knowing their time was coming to an end and having to answer the question every dying patient asks.Am I going to be okay?Almost always, we both know the true answer, but that doesn’t mean it’s the right one. The right answer is to smile, take their hand, and tell them that they’re going to be fine.
I swallow hard and blink several times to keep myself from tearing up. “I’m not worried, Blake, because you’re going to be fine,” I say, forcing the corners of my mouth up just enough to hopefully convince him that I truly believe it.
He smiles, but I know he’s not buying it. I’m sure, as aSeal, he had to watch people die and deliver the same spiel that I gave my patients. Blake clears his throat before he speaks. “In case I turn—”
“You won’t,” I cut him off.
“In case I do,” he powers through, ignoring my objection, “I really want you to know how sorry I am ... for everything.” Blake lowers his head, shaking it for a second before meeting my gaze. I know what he’s doing. I’ve seen it before. It’s akin to a deathbed confession. Asking for forgiveness or apologizing for all the wrongs one has accumulated over their lifetime. A final catharsis that’s often more for their own sake than that of those around them. Still, I appreciate him saying it with such conviction.
“I know you are.” I step toward him, taking his hands in mine and squeezing gently to doubly confirm I believe him. “It’s fine, Blake. Really.”
He pulls away again. “No, it’s not. I need you to know that I never wanted to be your monster. I was just so angry at the world, and I took it out on you. After my mom passed ...” He pauses, glancing up at the ceiling, like he’s trying to see her up there. “After my mom passed, my dad turned to alcohol, and the alcohol made him turn to me. But not in a loving way. There was nothing loving about him when he was drinking. It made him cruel and violent and angry. He was my monster, and then, like these goddamn biters, he turned me into one too.” Tears trickle down his cheeks, and he hangs his head, wiping them away with his T-shirt.
“At one point, the summer after junior year, he turned back into my dad, the man I knew before my mom passed. He got sober and so did I, in a way. I didn’t have that anger and resentment inside of my body poisoning me anymore. When I started senior year, I was happy, so there was nothing to take out on anyone. I put down my swords, and I got to know you. The more I got to know you, the more I realized I didn’t hate you at all.”
“Yes, you did, Blake,” I say matter-of-factly. “I get you want to apologize, but let’s not rewrite history.”
“I’m not rewriting it, Casey. I’m telling you the side you never knew about.”
I give him a crooked look. “What didn’t I know?”
“The night of the party,” he says, tilting his head. “I got a call from the sheriff. My dad had been picked up for a DUI. He relapsed, and I knew right then and there that everything was going to go back to the way it was. He’d be my monster again, and I would inevitably be yours. But I couldn’t have you close to me because I needed to protect you from him and from me, especially since I had fallen for you.”
“You never fell for me, Blake.” Tears start to build, and I take a couple of quick deep breaths, holding them in.
His hands grip the bars of the cell, and he bobs his head up and down, signaling that it’s the truth.
“Yes, I did, and that’s why I had to push you away. I needed you to hate me so much that you’d stay away from me for good, because I didn’t trust myself to stay away from you.”
I believe what he’s saying, but I hate him for making me love him, and I hate him even more for making me hate him. We were basically kids, and I’m sure he had the best of intentions, even though I don’t agree with them. But what he endured, between the loss of his mom and his father’s downward spiral, I can’t imagine. I understand the pain of watching a parent struggle with the loss of the person they loved most in this world. I witnessed my own father swallow his sorrow and put on a brave face for me, knowing that I was grieving too. His grief was masked by a hyperfixation on preparing for the worst-case scenario—the end of the world. Despite hating what my childhood became after my mom passed, I can’t imagine my dad not having been there to protect me, guide me, and love me—the only way he knew how. I want to forgive Blake and absolve him of his guilt. If I were on the outside looking in, I would. It would be easy to rationalize his actions with his circumstances, to see and understand exactly how it all played out. But I’m not on the outside. I’m in here with him.
My lip trembles. “You shouldn’t have done that, Blake.”
“Done what?”
“Made me hate you.”
“Why?” he asks.
Blake stares at me with so much intensity, it feels like he could burst right through the steel bars separating us.
“Because you succeeded.”
He lowers his head and turns away from me. “It’s the one thing I wish I would have failed at,” Blake says, his shoulders slumping forward. He rubs at his face like he’s trying to wake himself up from a bad dream.
I fall silent, letting the words hang heavy in the air. Although I’m standing still, my heart starts to pound, beating faster and faster, like it could shoot right out of my chest, splat onto the concrete floor for Blake to see. It’s as though it’s trying to speak louder than my brain, trying to be the voice inside me that cuts through it all.
“Well, you’re failing now,” I say softly.
His breath hitches and the air in the room all but evaporates. The moment feels frozen, like an entity in the sky hit pause on a remote, stretching out time to allow it to process what’s happening. The air slowly returns, passing through Blake’s nose via a sniffle. He turns and stands taller, as though a burden has been lifted from his shoulders, making him lighten.
“Blake,” I whisper, not wanting to ruin whatever this is. Maybe it’s a preamble or maybe it’s closure. It may even be both. If my words are small and meek enough, perhaps I can avoid having this moment come crashing down on us. “I don’t hate you anymore.”
He’s unable to hide the growing smile spreading across his face. “So, does that mean you like me?”
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” I say with a laugh.
