Page 82 of This I Promise You
“I trust you, Paul. I just…” He sounds weak. He needs to rest. I should do this later, but I don’t know if later is ever going to come. “You don’t deserve to deal with this. You don’t deserve to take on all my…baggage.”
Fuck all trying to keep my cool. Nah, he doesn’t get to say shit like that to me. Tome. “Baggage? Wow. Having baggage is such a fuckingburden,huh?” I mock. “You kept thisbig bad secretfrom me and decided, on your own, that I didn’t deserve to know! That wasn’t your call to make! Easton, I fucking lo—” I cut myself off and rub the back of my neck nervously. I can’t tell him that. Not here, not like this.
I’m agitated, pacing. I can’t get my mind toshut up!
I pull the phone away from my mouth and yell, “FUCK!” then put it back to my ear. His dad moves in again, and I nod. “Sorry, sorry.” I attempt to settle my breathing and soften my tone. It takes everything I have left inside me. “No, you don’t get to tell me what I can and cannot take. That’smydecision when you tell me like you should have.”
“You’re right. Of course you're right. I’m sorry.” He sounds so hurt, so broken. I can tell he’s crying and it’s breaking me in two.
I shake my head. “I can’t do this.”
He sniffs. “Wh-what?”
“Paul, don’t.” Huxley steps closer and puts her hand on my forearm, tears spilling down her cheeks.
I shrug her off. “I’m sorry this happened to you, Easton. I am. If I could take your disease away from you, I would. But you fucking lied. You kept that from me. I can’t—”
“Who, who told you?” he whispers.
My mouth drops to the floor.That’swhat he’s worried about? He’s worried about who spilled his fucking secret? “Are you kidding me right now, Easton? Whattold mewas when you had afucking seizurebecause we’ve been doing too much this week for your body to handle. If you would have told me, we could have avoided this whole shit show.”
“I’m sorry. I—”
“Maybe we’d be better off alone.” I didn’t mean to say it. I swear I didn’t. It just came out. My mouth said it before my mind could think it through. “Shit, Easton, I—”
“I can’t believe you just said that.”
The line goes dead.
I try calling him back.
Nothing.
I try again.
Nothing.
I try again.
Straight to voicemail.
I stand there, flabbergasted by my behavior. Mutilated by my actions. Shook because of how we got here. And it’s all my fault. I fucked up, but his message is clear.
“Let’s go home,” I say, voice breaking. Hands balled up at my sides, fingernails digging into my palm, drawing blood.
“Are you sure?” Huxley asks from behind me.
I hand her back her phone and nod. “Yeah. It’s over.”
Easton
I’m Scared
“You not going to eat your cake?” Dad asks from across the table.
“Huh? Oh, sorry, yeah.” I snap back to reality. Eyes jumping from my slice of red cake up to Dad’s concerned gaze.
I’m sitting at the dining room table back home. It feels like forever ago that I was last here. The decor is the same as when I left, the same as when Mom left too. I think it’s the last remnant of when things were good between them that Dad can’t let go of, and I’m sort of glad he didn’t.
