The Real Reed

Chapter 35

My point of view has been altered
because I'm
Never looking out through my own eyes
I don't know when I misplaced my own perspective
So now I gotta take back what was mine

                                         -Bea Miller

Jacob's POV

What today might hold- I dreaded to think.

The past couple of days have been a struggle and the tension was taking a toll on not just her, but myself as well.

It always got like this when the anniversary came around. I watched her go from zero to a hundred and back to zero so many times these last few days that I nearly got whiplash.

It didn't matter how many anniversaries I stuck around for, ten years didn't make it any less heartbreaking and draining.
And it wasn't just an emotional strain on us.

I nearly watched Reed pass out that night when she just kept heaving and heaving, but couldn't seem to breathe.
I remember desperately begging her to calm down as she got redder and redder by the skin. It was like she couldn't hear me.

I knew she had blanked out because her bloodshot eyes weren't focused, but she was fighting so hard to suck in the air that just didn't seem to fill her lungs.

The screaming match she had with the wall that night was an image I wouldn't be able to get out of my head any time soon. The mere thought of it had me hunched over the toilet seat yesterday.

I felt so guilty falling asleep every night, even if she was asleep right next to me. I couldn't help it because I was exhausted, and not just physically. But it didn't make me feel guilty, especially since dark and prominent rings around Reed's eyes were proof that she was getting anything but peaceful nights of sleep.

I knew she wasn't having nightmares, because I hadn't been startled awake by her screaming at any point this week.
It didn't make sense either because I never fell asleep until I was sure she had dosed off.

If she was having any difficulty with sleep, she was hiding it pretty well, but her swollen eyes said otherwise.

I remember fighting my own tears that night as I watched her break into a million pieces over and over again right in front of me, and I couldn't do anything about it. I couldn't even hold her, she wouldn't let me.

She looked deranged, mad, broken, drained and truly exhausted- not just from the situation, but from life in general, from herself.

I couldn't cry in front of her, I never did. I watched her tear herself down every year, but I never dared to cry in front of her. She didn't need that. She didn't need me to be weak.
She didn't need to see how destroyed I felt watching her every anniversary.
It wasn't about how I felt, it wasn't about me.

The anniversaries were hard, some harder than others. This year wasn't the worst, but it definitely made it to the top five.

Today, she's numb.

I can feel it in her unfocused gaze across the room, in her gentle yet unsteady breathing, in the protective way she crossed her arms and legs in front of her, in the distance she's kept between us.

I didn't like numb any better.

Her numbness was something I couldn't deal with sometimes, and that's why I did everything to make sure she didn't get to that.

It wasn't because I couldn't process what she was thinking, because I really couldn't, it's moreso that I couldn't reach her. She'd be so out of it and so deep in her head that it would be almost impossible to get through to her.