The Truths We Told

by Blair, E. K.

  “I’ll come back next weekend to see you,” I tell him before I kiss his cheek. “I love you.”

  “I love you too.” Then he looks at Audrina, saying, “Drive carefully.”

  She gives him a hug and then tugs me from the room.

  The trip back feels shorter than it should, and when we arrive at my place, Audrina decides to hang out for a little while. She’s just switching out the laundry for me, when the expected knock happens.

  She’s quick to rush to the door, and the moment I hear his voice, the desire to run and hide consumes me. When I step out of my room, he looks over my way, and I’m sure my sister can feel the tension between us.

  “I should probably get back,” she says.

  “No, you don’t have to leave.”

  She glances at Trent and then to me. “It’s fine. I told mom I’d be home in time to have dinner with her.”

  A fresh shot of sadness washes over me as we hug each other. I hate that she’s leaving for London and I won’t see her for a while. She cries in my arms, and I struggle to keep myself together when she blubbers, “I’m going to miss you so much.”

  “I’m going to miss you too.”

  She pulls back and wipes her eyes. “Promise you’ll call or text me every day.”

  “I promise.”

  After one more hug, she turns to say bye to Trent, who pulls her into a warm hug as well. It kills me to watch because the two of them are growing closer.

  The second the door shuts behind her, Trent takes me into his arms with a heavy breath. His warmth is a comfort I want to cling to, but I know I can’t, and I pull away.

  “What’s going on?”

  I turn and take a few steps back, growing nervous because I don’t know how to do this when I don’t want to do this at all. I wish he would be the one to let me go just to spare me the agony of having to hurt him.

  “Kate, talk to me,” he says. “Tell me why you’ve been avoiding me.”

  A sharp pain slices down my throat, and I lose all my strength when tears begin slipping down my face. He walks over and I quickly turn around before his arms fold around me so he’s hugged against my back. It’s in this moment a whimper slips out.

  “Baby, don’t cry.”

  And this is it, this is the reason we have to put space between us. It’s wrong of me to keep taking when his affection only makes me want more. It isn’t fair to him.

  His head presses against the side of my cheek, and when I move my hands to grip on to his arms that are crossed around my chest, I whisper cowardly, “I can’t do this.”

  The moment the words are out, his arms constrict, holding me tighter. I want to stay forever in them, but that’s only because I’m needy.

  “Everything’s going to be okay,” he tries to assure.

  Shaking my head, I pull his arms from around me and turn to face him. Staring into his eyes, all I see is his concern, and I know he won’t ever understand.

  “I need you to talk to me.”

  “I can’t do this,” I repeat.

  “Can’t do what?”

  I take a step back. “This,” I state. “Us.”

  “What the fuck are you talking about?”

  Dropping my eyes because I’m too scared to look at him, I tell him, “We need to stop seeing each other.”

  His hands come to find my arms, and I wish he wouldn’t touch me. It’s only making this harder. “Look, I know you’re going through a lot of shit right now, but . . .”

  When his words fall short, I finally open my eyes. Devastation surrounds me, and there’s no avoiding it.

  “I’m sorry,” is all I can manage.

  “Why are you doing this?”

  “Because I love you,” I tell him from the most honest place inside my heart.

  “Then why are you trying to break up with me?”

  “Because I’m not right for you,” I admit as my heart crumbles into pieces that I will never be able to fit back together again. “I wish I was, but I’m not.”

  “What the fuck are you talking about? You’re perfect for me.” He speaks with undeniable fervency, but how the hell can he say that when I’m the very thing he complains about?

  “I’m just not good enough.”

  His teeth grind, and he’s furious when he says, “Caleb’s the one who made you doubt your self-worth, not me!”

  “This has nothing to do with him.”

  “Bullshit!” He catches his anger and takes a beat to calm himself before he comes back softer, saying, “I’ve done everything to show you that your perfect just the way you are.”

  “That’s just it . . . you’ve done everything.” Another drop of agony rolls slowly down my cheek. “You’ve done more than what you ever should’ve.”

  Confusion deepens the lines across his forehead. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “I’m weak and I use you for your strength. I’ve been taking advantage of you.” I pause and then add, “My life falls apart, and I turn to you to get me through it. Sound familiar?”

  “Are you seriously comparing yourself to my mother?”

  “How is what I’m doing any different?”

  He steps closer to me. “Because it is.”

  “How?”

  “Because it just is, Kate.”

  “Then tell me how.”

  “I don’t fucking know, but it just is!”

  The fact that he can’t argue the difference reinforces that I’m seeing things for exactly what they are, and it makes me want to fall to my knees in heartbreak.

  “Kate, please.”

  “You say I’m not a burden to you, but—”

  “You aren’t.”

  “You wouldn’t tell me even if I was.”

  “Yes, I would,” he states fervently, but I’m already shaking my head at the truth we both know.

  “Have you ever told your mom?”

  “What the fuck, Kate.” He turns on his heel and paces away from me.

  “I’m sorry,” I cry. “I wish I didn’t need as much as what I do, but I do.”

  “Then let me give it to you,” he says, stepping back over to me.

  “You’ll only wind up resenting me. I can’t do that to you.”

  He’s at a loss for words as he shakes his head ever so slightly in disbelief.

  I feel it too. I can’t believe it’s come to this, and as much as it hurts, it’ll hurt worse if we allow the bitterness of resentment to rip our love apart.

  “You said it yourself when we were in Key West. You told me nothing lasts forever.”

  “Really? You’re bringing up shit I said years ago?” He rakes his hand through his hair as he stalks away from me. “This is bullshit. You’re just scared.”

  “I am,” I agree. “And because of that, I have no business being in a relationship—in any relationship.”

  Lacing his fingers behind his head, he stalks across the room as he lets go of a heavy breath that’s dripping in frustration.

  When he looks at me, he drops his arms in defeat, nearly begging, “Tell me how to fix this.”

  I blink, and tears fall again. “You can’t.” Those two words are a guillotine to my heart, splitting it right open, spilling everything it ever held inside it. “I’m doing this because I love you and it’s the right thing to do.”

  “None of this makes any sense.” He comes back over to me and takes my face in his hands, pleading, “I can’t lose you.”

  “I can’t lose you either,” I cry. “I want to keep you for forever, but I’m not enough to be what you need—what you deserve.” As more tears spill out, he pulls me against his chest so tightly I can feel his heart beating erratically against my cheek, and I hate that I’m not stronger. I wish he could just admit it to himself because this is killing me to break his heart like this. “I’m so sorry.”

  “You’re good enough. I swear to you, you are.”

  I shake my head at the lies he’s trying to convince himself are truths.

 
“Don’t do this,” he begs.

  Pressing my cheek against his warmth, I hug him tighter when I weep, “I’ll forever love you for everything you’ve done for me.”

  “Please, don’t do this.” His voice cracks, and when I look up, there’s heartache welling in his eyes. He shakes his head, pleading once more, “Don’t,” and I have to force myself to step out of his arms, and the moment I do, his sadness spins into anger. He raises his voice, demanding, “Don’t fucking do this!”

  “Trent, please,” I beg. “Please don’t be angry, just try to understand that—”

  “Understand what?” he snaps. “That some guy fucked you up, and now I’m paying the price for it?”

  I open my mouth, but too many words collide, preventing me from saying anything.

  Fuming mad, he walks straight to my door, and when he turns around, tears are running down his cheeks.

  “Trent.”

  “Fuck you,” is all he leaves me with before slamming the door behind him.

  KATE

  The murky gloom of a new day greets me as I wake, despite the sunshine and palm trees that make a mockery of my mood. As I go through the motions of my morning routine, I’m nothing but a vacant body getting from point A to point B. This past week, between my father and Trent, I’ve been pushed to my breaking point. I’m dangling from a withered thread, all the while depending on it to save me.

  Because that’s what I do—I depend on everything other than myself.

  After Trent stormed out yesterday, I spent the whole night crying before reconstructing my walls. Self-preservation drives me to shove down all that threatens to break me.

  I’m sick of feeling too much.

  I try not to think about Trent, but he’s everywhere I look. There’s a hole in the pit of my heart where he belongs but I forced him from—yet, he’s still there, clinging to the edges, refusing to leave. I did the right thing—for both of us—I think.

  Why does it feel like my story is constantly filled with broken pieces, terrible choices, and ugly truths?

  “You did the right thing,” I reassure myself, but heartache holds me in its claws.

  After a quick call to get an update on my dad, I grab my backpack and head to campus. It seems pointless though. How in the world am I supposed to concentrate with so much on my mind?

  When I walk into class, Ady is already sitting in her seat. I drop my bag next to her feet, and she pops her head up from her book. “You’re back.”

  I force a smile as I plop down in my chair and dig my notebook out from my bag.

  “How’s everything with your dad?”

  “He made it out of the ICU,” I tell her.

  “Oh, thank god. I’ve been so worried.” She reaches over to give me a quick hug. “I wanted to call, but I knew you were dealing with a lot, so I’ve been relying on Trent for updates.”

  She speaks his name, and it triggers a pain I have to force myself to ignore.

  “You should come over tonight, just hang out and take your mind off everything.”

  I’m not sure I’m ready to say the words aloud, but I don’t have a choice because she lives with Trent. It isn’t something I’m going to be able to hide, so I go ahead and get it over with. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  “Why?”

  Anxiously, I scribble on the corner of the notebook paper in an attempt to avoid the sadness. “We broke up.”

  “What?”

  I can’t bring myself to look at her as I nod.

  “What happened?”

  With a dismissive shrug that’s a complete sham, I respond, “It just didn’t work out.”

  “I didn’t even know you guys were having problems.”

  Not wanting to go any deeper, I continue coloring the edge of the paper in black ink.

  “Kate.” Her voice is laced in worriment.

  Looking up, I remain expressionless when I say, “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  She nods with a gentle understanding. “Okay.”

  As the hour passes, I don’t hear a single word of today’s lecture, and by the time class ends, my page is covered in so much ink that the paper curls. Ady barely speaks to me as we go from one class to another, and I love her for that. Love that she isn’t forcing conversations on me that I’m not strong enough to have.

  After our last class together, I follow her over to the student center, and before I break away to head to my car, I give her a simple, “Thanks.”

  Her eyes soften, and I know she gets it. “You’ll call me if you need anything, right?”

  I nod and drive back to my place while she remains for one more class.

  Loneliness torments me more and more with each day that passes—one fading into the next. I find myself losing track of time as I sit alone inside my head, watching the sun die every night, only to witness its rebirth the following morning. Days drag slowly, nights last forever, and weeks pass at a suffering pace.

  I miss him.

  I constantly fight against wanting to call him just to hear his voice.

  Thoughts of him are consuming, and I have to remind myself that maybe my journey isn’t about love. Maybe, right now, my journey is about being alone, about waking in the middle of the bed and finding hope in the vacancy, hope in the quiet, hope in the way I stretch into my life and give myself permission to take up the space within it. Ever since I came here to Miami, I’ve been searching to find the place where I can fit in and feel settled. Maybe this is the time for me to learn that I don’t need to depend on others for that, that I can be my own place of sanctuary.

  Maybe, just maybe, there’s a whole other world waiting for me on the other side of myself where nothing ever burns.

  “There you are,” my mother welcomes when I walk through the front door.

  It’s Thanksgiving break and the first holiday where it’s only the three of us since Audrina is in England still.

  I was hoping to come home and feel normal again, but nothing has been normal since my father almost died.

  “Where’s Dad?”

  “Lying down in the living room.”

  After three and a half weeks in the hospital, he was finally released, but he’s still going to physical therapy to regain his strength after being bed-ridden for so long.

  As he sleeps on the couch, I move quietly to slip the remote out from under his hand. I’m impressed with his quick reflexes when he clutches it tightly and pulls it away before his eyes even open.

  I laugh, and he looks at me, teasing, “Don’t mess with a man’s football game.”

  “You’re not even watching it.”

  He smiles before struggling to sit up. When he groans in discomfort, I slip my hands under his arms to help him. “You make me feel like an old geezer.”

  “Stop.”

  Once he’s situated, he pats the spot next to him, and I take a seat before leaning in for a long hug.

  “How are you doing?” I ask.

  “You mean aside from being annoyed with everyone fussing over me?”

  “I can hear you,” Mom calls out from the kitchen, and Dad chuckles.

  “People just want to help.”

  “I’m sick of lying around this house,” he grumbles, and I can totally relate. Time moves at a snail’s pace when the world leaves you idle. “I’m ready to get back to work.”

  “Work?”

  My mother enters the room with a platter of snacks, shaking her head as she sets the food on the coffee table. “You need to be thinking about retiring.”

  “Are you hearing your mother?” he says, and she shoots him a glare, but I know it stems from a place of love. He turns back to me. “I’m too young to retire.”

  “You’re not that young,” I tease.

  “Those are fighting words, girl.”

  I laugh.

  “It isn’t about your age,” my mom nags. “It’s about your safety. Do you have any idea how close we came to losing you?”

  “I took a bullet to
the neck,” he responds as he scoops a pita chip through the hummus. “I’m well aware.”

  She flops down in one of the chairs, mumbling, “You are a stubborn man.”

  Dismissing her entirely, he finishes his chip before asking, “Where’s Trent?”

  “He’s at home with his mom,” I respond, not that I know for sure.

  It’s been weeks since we broke up, and I’ve yet to tell my parents, but I wonder if they can see through my stone wall to the truth. I wonder how well I’m hiding the pain from hearing his name. It might as well be a lance across my heart that inflames these self-inflicted wounds—wounds that scorch like fire, sending flares up into the night sky, alerting the world that I’m in distress.

  “Do you mind if I go upstairs and rest for a bit?”

  “You just got here,” my mother says with a hint of concern.

  “I know, but I didn’t get much sleep last night.”

  She nods, and when I stand, she tells me, “The turkey will be coming out of the oven in a couple of hours.”

  “Okay.”

  I make a beeline to my room, needing space to digest the sadness his name just reawakened without them noticing that something is wrong. Closing my door, I lie on the bed and sink into his memory.

  Drowning is a quiet, desperate thing.

  I close my eyes to keep the tears inside, and when I convince myself that it’s safe to reopen them, I wake to the ghost of him hanging on the other side of the sky. He’s beyond my reach, and my heart plummets in the wake of his effervescence. Shutting my eyes again, I see tiny specs within the darkness behind my lids—stars of iridescent light that shine over me. Maybe it’s him. I try to convince myself that it isn’t, that stars are only phantoms of the nighttime.

  Rolling over, I look out my window to see tall stacks of billowing clouds, and I wish for them to open, beg the universe to send in the rain to cry for me because I can’t do it on my own without sacrificing myself.

  My head won’t shut up while I search for placidity, and I become irritated. Sitting up, I throw a pillow onto the floor and drop my head into my palms—hating myself.

  “What am I doing?” I murmur when doubt peeks over my shoulder and whispers into my ear.