Page 96 of Call You Mine
“You don’t have to say anything,” I tell him, rolling over so I’m facing him. His brown waves dip onto his forehead, his bare chest warm against my palms as I snake my hands up and find his jaw, holding his face between my hands.
“I know it’s stupid, but I want to know if there’s anything I can do? Anything to help or, I don’t know, makes things easier for you.”
My heart clenches at the longing in the way his caramel eyes shine, even in the darkness of the hotel room. “I’m in therapy, I have been since things got really bad.”
“I’m in therapy too,” he says, and it further breaks down walls I’m too tired to keep intact anymore. “And I know everyone’s comfort level with therapy is different, but if you ever wanted to share that part of your OCD with me, I’m here. I’m always here.”
I raise a brow. With our eyes adjusting to the darkness, he must be able to see it. “Like come with me?”
Anderson nods. “If that’s okay.”
“I’ll think about it,” I answer, more so because I’m so caught off-guard by the question, his willingness to learn more rather than write me off as some crazy person.
“When did things get bad?” Anderson asks after a moment.
“The night of the fire, when Rumi—” I can’t even say the words. Thinking about that night, how I could’ve been there, could’ve prevented it, could’ve stopped it.
Anderson’s hand finds the back of my head, pulling me into his chest. “I know, love,” he whispers. “I know what happened that night.”
Shaking my head, I feel a tear run down my cheek. “It was my fault.”
“What?” Anderson says, pulling me even closer. “No, it wasn’t. It was that jackass who came after Rumi. And there’s nothing you could have done to have prevented it. I know. I was there. I saw how he got in and how the fire started.”
I lean back, and he lets me. “It wasmyfault he got into the house in the first place. Rumi and I got into a fight that day because I was going to see Jett. I think Emerson realized that little detail tonight when Jett came up, and thankfully she didn’t say anything.” I roll my lips together, my nose prickling. “I went to see him a few weeks after our date at the drive-in.”
I feel Anderson’s body tense, but he doesn’t say anything.
I exhale, not sure if it’s a good idea to admit what I’ve been holding in for almost a year, especially because it only has the ability to complicate this mess even more.
But now that I know what it feels like to lessen some of this weight on my shoulders, how it feels to let Anderson hold some of it for me—even if it’s just in this moment—I don’t want to stop.
“Our date that night… it was supposed to just be a fun, “no-strings-attached” sort of thing. At least that’s what I told myself. But when you told me you wanted to settle down, there was a moment when I thought that’s what I wanted too. And that scared me.”
Anderson’s lips part, his brows lifting, but he lets me continue.
“So I went back to Jett. Sort of. I drove to his place withevery intention of seeing him. But I couldn’t go through with it.”
Jett was an awful nightmare, but one that was recurring. With him, at least I knew how he worked, how to survive him. The same way I knew how to survive not only by taking care of my sisters, but also the person who was supposed to be protecting us.
He was like a familiar pain—safer than risking everything for the possibility of something good.
There’s a slight shakiness to my voice as I continue, pushing out the words like they’re poison, needing to rid them from my body. “Rumi thought it wasmecoming into the house when her ex attacked her.” Saying the words is like a blow to the chest, winding me, knocking all the air from my lungs.
Because I was busy choosing the devil I knew when my best friend needed me.
I wasn’t there.
A few moments pass, the silence stretching, but Anderson doesn’t rush me. He waits until I’m ready. “And ever since then,” I continue. “It’s like my OCD has taken on a mind of its own. I think that day was like proof that my brain was right all along. That it wasn’t just a compulsion, it was something that kept me and everyone I loved safe. Because if I had made one different choice that day, Rumi and Evee wouldn’t have almost gotten killed.”
There it is.
Out in the open.
My OCD feels so out of control. Like it’s punishing me, not trying to protect me. Not anymore.
It’s like my mind thinks if I don’t do everything exactly right, someone else is going to get hurt—and it’ll be my fault.
And I don’t want to live like this anymore.
