“I think it’s too late. Dad won’t listen. He thinks it’s school, this place, the people I’m around. He doesn’t get that it’s me.”
“You could try telling him, Ari. I know your father is a stubborn man. God, do I know it. But he does love you. He wants you to see the best doctors, and just refuses to hear that you’re unwell. As difficult as it is for me to admit to my part, your father is unwilling to admit he’s done anything but the best for you.”
I release a hard sigh. “I don’t even know where to start with him. Just too many years, too much unsaid.” I hug my stomach tighter. “And besides, there’s no reason for me to stay.”
“We’ll get through this,” Becca says. “You’ll get through it. And I promise, I’ll try to rein in my obsessive mothering.” She runs a hand over my hair, then, “Maybe your doctor in New York can put us on the right path.”
After she leaves, I stare out the window. Glimpse the dead leaves and bare branches. Around here, I’ve learned, that is a beautiful sight. It means football season. I feel my lips curl into a slight smile, but it’s gone just as quickly.
My only regret? Well, I mean, besides the most obvious: not being able to see Ryder run out onto the field. Missing out on watching him win the championship. And, of course, I wanted to see him looking hot in his uniform one more time. But mostly, I just needed to feel a connection to him—even if it was from afar. In the stands. When Ryder is on the field, in the zone, he makes everyone feel connected to him.
I selfishly wanted to covet that feeling for myself. And I wanted to be there to cheer him on—to witness his moment of glory.
I stare at the remote to the flatscreen, mentally preparing myself for the pain of crossing the room. Seeing Ryder on TV during the game might be my last glimpse of him for a long while. But I’m not sure what will hurt more; seeing him without being able to touch him, talk to him, express how wrong I was…or never laying my eyes on him again.
God, but I really messed up this time.
Was our falling out more his doing or mine? Was it more his betrayal, or my own insecurity? Thinking about us under the alcove, with Ryder pleading with me to hear him out… That was the moment. That was our missed opportunity to right all the hurt and damage.
But this realization is coming a bit too late, I’m afraid.
Our moment is gone. Ryder is at the game, and I’m leaving. My father is taking me back to New York where I’ll be away from all the “pressures” that seem to wind me up in “these messes.” His words. Which I find ironic. Just like Becca stated, he will never acknowledge the enormous pressure he’s responsible for.
Nope. It’s all me. And apparently the blue-collar friends I surround myself with.
To help me recover, I’ve been isolated. No phone. No Internet. All outside influences have been removed. I’m a prisoner. No longer only a prisoner to my
body—I’ve graduated to full-scale isolation from the whole world.
The first night I was back from the hospital, I told my father I didn’t want to marry Lucas. I tried to be strong, but that fight was easily subdued when I collapsed to the floor. Becca helped me to the guest room, and it’s where I’ve spent the loneliest two days of my life.
I made one last, frantic attempt to reach out; I sent Mel a text before Markus recovered my phone. And Vee… I should’ve said more to her. I should have opened up. Maybe if I’d been honest with her then I could’ve found a way out of this mess.
I hate myself for admitting this, but I’m relieved I separated from Ryder when I did. That he didn’t have to witness me degrading into myself. Falling apart. Only, ironically, it was that separation that sent me spiraling into the abyss.
Oh, everyone is full of irony. Like father like daughter.
What’s even more sadistic? I got a glimpse of my father’s fear. When I fought him on Lucas, I saw the panic in his eyes, the realization that I’m also my mother’s daughter. He’s learned from his past mistakes; he’s not letting me out of my commitment.
And I’m not strong enough to fight—physically, mentally, or emotionally. What little fire I had fueling me dwindled to a wisp of smoke the night I sent Ryder away and accepted my future with Lucas.
I deserve this sickness.
It’s my penance.
Ignoring the tray of food Becca set on my nightstand, I close my eyes and try to will myself to sleep.
A loud bang comes from downstairs, and my eyes snap open. It’s followed by a ruckus and shouts, and fear grips me. Lucas is here. I’ve been avoiding him since the engagement party, and he’s demanding to see his investment. I know it. My father can’t hide my secret much longer. He’s going to have to tell Lucas the truth.
I push myself up against the headboard and let my legs fall over the side of the mattress. Tentatively touching my toes to the cool floor, I attempt to stand. White-hot pain slices through my calves. Releasing a cry, I crumple against the bed.
My muscles have deteriorated to the point they no longer want to function. Not without punishing me. It’s what the doctor was so worried about at the hospital. Why he argued with my father about keeping me admitted. But neither one of them asked what I wanted.
“I’m calling the cops,” my father shouts.
That pulls me out of my searing pain. I push past the haze clouding my head and roll to face the door.
Stomping. More shouts. Then my door bursts open with another bang.