Page 58 of Every Thought Taken

Anderson looks off in the distance, his eyes glazing over as he searches for what to say. “How long have we known each other?” Eyes still unfocused, he continues without me answering. “It’s rhetorical because we both know the answer.” Rising from the lounger, he walks to the rail lining the edge of the patio and stares out into the trees beyond the property. “Things are shitty, I get it. Your parents, school, work… me.” The muscles of his jaw flex, irritation darkening his expression as he looks at me over his shoulder. “But don’t lie. Not to me.”

Nausea rolls in my belly and I swallow past the thickness in my throat. I ball my fingers into fists at my side before relaxing my hands once more. One foot in front of the other, I step closer to the edge, closer to him, stopping a few feet away.

“Ander…”

He shakes his head. “Don’t say something just to appease me.”

I inhale deeply. Once, twice, a third time. My brows pinch together as the nausea in my belly slowly climbs up my throat. The last thing I want is to hurt him, but my honesty will do exactly that. I love him more than anything, but I feel so torn.

“I’ve been struggling.”

With my admission out in the open, he turns to face me fully. “How so?”

Now it’s my turn to lose focus in the trees. To mull over how to explain the stress I’ve felt these past months. Without hurting him.

“Ander, I literally have no clue what to do.”

His eyes sear my profile, but he doesn’t say a word.

“Every night around the dinner table, my parents harp on me about school. They want to know what my plan is for senior year. What I’ll do to keep my grades up. Questions about college applications and if I’ve decided on a major yet.” I suck in a sharp breath, praying for an ounce of relief, but it’s nowhere near enough. It never is. “It’s like I’m one of those carnival acts. The performer balancing plates on several sticks. They keep spinning and spinning, and all I can do is watch and wait for one to fall.”

Anderson takes a step in my direction, his hand on the rail, ready to reach and comfort. To take away some of the hurt. But this can’t be swept aside with soft words and warm embraces.

“Sorry I’m taking this out on you.” My green eyes meet his blues. “But every time I try to get ahead”—I point back to the loungers—“like reading books I have no desire to read, something throws me off.”

He inches closer, his fingers gripping the rail as he nods. “And today, I distracted you.” Though inches away, he sounds distant.

I swallow past the truth crawling up my throat. “Yes,” I whisper.

Silence engulfs us as we stand there, me looking at him, him staring off into the distance. With each passing breath, I see small, subtle shifts in his demeanor. A hardening. A wall erecting.

Bile climbs my throat and dances over the back of my tongue because I know what this is. Anderson won’t throw in the towel on us, not fully, but he will sacrifice his happiness. He will give me the solitude I need but won’t dare ask for. He will stand on the sidelines and fade away so I can flourish.

The worst part… my mouth refuses to form the words to stop him.

With a nod, he releases the rail, takes a step back, pivots, and walks back to the table beside the loungers. He swipes his book from the surface, pauses, and looks over his shoulder, his eyes on the ground. “Let me know when you have free time.”

A knife pierces my heart at his words, the blade twisting left then right as he takes one step then another and disappears from view. Seconds feel like minutes as I stare at where I last saw him. Disbelief splinters my chest while an insufferable ache expands beneath my breastbone.

What have I done?

Much as I want to chase after him, much as I want to tell him there has to be another way, I remain rooted in place. All it will do is make him run faster and farther. I may not have said I needed space, but everything Ididsay indicated as much. And like the selfless person he is, Anderson does exactly that. Gives me space.

But should I let him? And for how long? I fear there are no right answers.

CHAPTER34

ANDERSON

The parents canceled the annual summer camping trip.

“If the girls can’t be there, I don’t see the point.”

Maybe if I’d been born with a vagina, Mom would like me more. Maybe she would consider how badly I need the time away. Or maybe Dad should have piped up and declared a boys-only trip.

None of the above happened, and by no means am I surprised. Because no one gives a fuck about Anderson. No one gives a fuck about what I want or how I feel or how much those trips away from town mean.

No one. Fucking. Cares.

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