Loving Madness

8. Unloading

Heavy In Your Arms- Florence and The Machine

A single tear falls down my cheek as this dawns on me. I am heartbroken and rejoicing all at the same time and to be honest, I didn't really care in that moment. The thought of being alone again was far more painful than any of the fears about losing him were. I know this decision is purely selfish, completely for me. So the decision was made. I would stay by his side until he ordered me away. I felt a primal need to protect him, something that felt ancient and entirely new altogether. Staring at me with wide eyes, his hand reaches up to cover mine. He knows nothing of the war that rages within my psyche.

His hand against mine seemed to be an acknowledgment of my being here. He clutched it like a lifeline. Like he was stranded in the ocean and I had just thrown him a floatie. To be honest, I felt exactly the same. There was no one on this earth, with him being the exception, that could help me. His hand is soft and rough, both strong and gentle. He almost seems as if he cannot believe that I am here like he is worried I am just another hallucination brought to torture him. I offer him a small smile and still don't know what to say.

His eyes are bloodshot and surrounded with tears. I see fear and shame pass through his eyes and my heart breaks again. I want him to know he is safe and that I will never judge him for anything. He has seen me at my worst and has never been anything but soothing and just there for me. I yearn to be that for him, that safe place, the one place where he doesn't have to worry about being strong and putting on a mask.

"I didn't think you would come," he says with a hopeful smile. His voice is strained and stressed, as though he had been screaming war cries all night. I know the feeling, he probably was. His statement is very accurate. I didn't even know I was coming until I got to his door. Okay, I did, but I didn't know the extent of it until I was here.

"I didn't either." I chuckle. What a horrible thing to say. Well, I'm nothing if not honest. He moves my hand away from his face but doesn't let go of it. He gestures for me to sit and I do. I put my back against the headboard and draw my knees to my chest, just in case I begin to fall apart again. "I was anxious when you didn't show up today. Turns out, I enjoyed you being there with me." I pause, to marvel at how easy it was to communicate with him. Once the decision was made to let him in, there was no turning back and no barriers left. Talk about jumping in with both feet.

"Not that I'm not grateful, but why did you come, Mayslee?" He seemed hesitant to ask this question, but after the way I treated him, I could not blame him. It was a necessary question in our current predicament. I realize I am absentmindedly rubbing small circles with my thumb on the back of his hand. I know from the outside, this would seem to be a calming gesture for him, but it was for me. So selfish.

"Well, apparently, I'm a glutton for punishment." I stop and take a breath, flashing him an apologetic smile. I need to stop with the smart-ass comments and just get this over with. "For one, it's only fair that I help you, seeing as you have been helping me for so long. For two, it gets lonely being in my head with only a raging psychopath as my only company." I freeze as I realize that I just spoke of the beast, out loud, for the first time. my eyes roam his face and I feel relieved as I find only confusion there.

"To put it as simply as possible, I might have grown to like you and enjoy your company," I say this last line as quickly as possible and feel a little bit of nausea at revealing any of my true feelings.

"So you may or may not like me and enjoy my company?" he questions with mock confusion and a light chuckle. I had never heard him laugh before and commit it to memory quickly. I vow to find ways to make him repeat that beautiful sound. "Does this mean you are at least speaking to me or was this just a one-off situation?" he looks worried about my answer to this question.

"Definitely not a one-off situation. I'm tired. Tired of keeping this armor up. It's exhausting keeping this wall up and never letting anyone in. And between you and Dr. Sampson, you're definitely the top pick." Damn it, why can't I just say something genuine without ending the sentence with a joke? "As you can probably tell, I don't do well with sincerity, so I make jokes as a way to make myself more comfortable. I don't know how else to deal with it." I chuckle at my inability to take anything seriously and realize that I haven't laughed this much in one day since before my parents passed. He really has been helping me without me even realizing it.

"Don't worry, your secret is safe with me. I guess I'm just having a hard time understanding why the change is so sudden and you're so open. Once again, not complaining at all, just confused." His eyebrows pull together as he tries to read my crazy and fails horribly. He doesn't understand how he went from being a pariah one day to me spilling my guts the next. It makes sense. I feel guilt seeping in as I think of how horribly I've treated him when all he has done is try to help me. I make a silent vow that I will never stop making that up to him.

"That's the easiest part to explain. Before meeting you, I had made the decision that no one else would ever touch my heart again, or see the real me or get close enough to catch a glimpse. I didn't shut you out because I didn't like you or I thought you were a bad person. I shut you out because you were so genuine and I knew if given the opportunity, you could easily be a friend or someone I cared about. I wasn't going to give you the chance to do that because I was petrified of losing someone else that I care about." I stop for a second to gather my thoughts and to make sure to choose my next words carefully. I didn't want to come off as too clingy or weird but I wanted to get my point across. "And then when Dr. Sampson told me you were hurting, I decided you were worth the risk. I don't mind being hurt again if it means knowing you."

I had laid everything I had on the table. The ball was in his court and I could no longer look him in the face. I felt blood rush to my face and knew that there were splotches of red across my cheeks and neck. How did I even end up here? Professing my loyalty to a man who is just as fucked up as me, if not more. This doesn't make any sense and my head is spinning. Not in an 'I'm about to lose my shit' way but more of a 'what the fuck have I gotten myself into?' Type of way.

He doesn't speak for what seems like an eternity and I find myself getting anxious. I finally gather enough courage to look at his face and he is staring at me. And not even in a what the fuck is wrong with you way. He seems stunned. The left corner of his mouth is turned up and that gives me hope. Maybe he doesn't think I'm crazy. I mean I am and he knows that. His face suddenly looks grim.

"Mayslee, please don't play with me. I can't handle being disappointed like this. Just rip the bandaid off and tell me you just felt sorry for me." He hangs his head in shame and I am mad. I'm pissed. I understand the whole self-pity thing all too well and refuse to let him fall into that rabbit hole today.

"You're joking, right? I mean come on. Of course, I feel sorry for you. I know exactly what it's like. But I also feel bad for Dr. Sampson and the change in haircut she so desperately needs." I take a deep breath to calm myself while he stares at me like I have three heads. "Look, the point I'm trying to make is that just because I feel sorry for something doesn't mean I care. And I could have stayed in my room and not given any fucks that you were having a rough day. Instead, I made my first-ever debut outside of my room to come to make sure you were okay. You really have some gall."

With those words, I get up and swiftly walk out of the room, informing Dr. Sampson that I would like to go back to my room.