Looking into the depth of his eyes, I see an old soul inside, one who’s experienced the highs and lows of life. Something I could probably never understand. But I want to. I want to help him fight this and be his shoulder to cry on.
I harden my gaze. “When Zach told you to do those things, I guarantee he didn’t mean for you to give up in order to make it happen. I’m so sorry your friend died, Adam.
I don’t know what I would do if something happened to Kel. But do you think she’d just stand back and say ‘okay’ if she knew I was blowing off my chances of living to screw around? Do you think Zach would’ve turned down another surgery that could’ve cured him?”
He turns away, his eyes wet. “You didn’t know Zach.”
“I don’t have to know him. I know you. You’re an amazing, good, incredibly sweet guy with a lot to live for. If you let me take you back, I’ll stay by your side as long as it takes for the surgery and your recovery. I’ll stick with you like you did with me after I was roofied. I’ll help you through it, because that’s what people who love each other do. I’m not going to let you just give up. It’s not just your fight anymore! You have to do this for both of us! I don’t care if it sounds selfish of me to say that. It’s true. If you really do love me, you’ll let me take you home. I tried to pretend I didn’t feel anything for you because losing Jason destroyed me, and I couldn’t let that happen again. But I was lying to myself. I care too much about you to walk away.”
The corners of his mouth twitch with a smile that never comes to full form. He rubs away my tears with the side of his hand, shaking his head.
“I’m sorry to put you through this. But I decided long ago that I can’t go through it again. You saw my scars. You must understand what the surgeries do to me. I get why you’re angry, and I’ll understand if you leave. I still can’t say that I regret any of this.
Meeting you, going on this trip, it’s been the best time of my life. It’s better than I ever imagined. I’ll always be grateful you agreed to come along.”
For the first time in my life, I really want to punch someone. Probably not Adam, who apparently has enough to worry about without his girlfriend or whatever I am going crazy, but someone, anyone. I burst from the couch, trying to pace my breaths to keep from hyperventilating.
“So you’re just going to fucking sit there and tell me goodbye?” I spit. “You’re not even going to try to fight this so we can be together? What am I supposed to say to that? It’s been nice knowing you? Good luck with your journey into self-deprecation?
You can’t just fall in love with someone and not give a shit what it does to them! You can’t let me fall for you and then push me away! That’s not how love works!”
His eyes fall flat, although filled with tears. “We both tried to stop it from happening. I knew that night on the bus it was just your way of trying to make things mean less between us. Please believe that I never wanted to hurt you.”
“Too fucking late!”
Everything becomes a tinged, watered down red when I fly to the steps that will take me outside, away from the brutal truths and broken reality.
Wandering through the streets of New York, I never really get the feeling I’m actually lost. On our last trip, my mom and I were able to navigate our way through the grid system, so I always have a glinting sense of exactly where I’m located. I catch slivers of the Empire State Building to my left, and the gleam of the Chrysler Building far ahead to the right. Around four blocks down, however, I realize I not only forgot my phone in the brownstone, but I only have $10 in my pocket. Even better yet, it begins to sprinkle.
I duck into the heavy wooden door of the first Irish pub I come across. It’s relatively quiet inside with only two other patrons sitting at the bar. Probably not surprising for an early Friday afternoon. The bartender, washing glasses behind the bar, flashes me a bright grin when I settle on a stool in the middle.
“Mornin’, sweetheart. What can I get ya?” He’s tall and slender with carrot orange hair and an accent so thick it takes my brain a moment to catch up. The man and woman sitting separately at the bar glance at me for only a moment before their interest waivers and their eyes return to the TV.
I pat the corners of my eyes, wondering just how much of a wreck I look after crying.
After Adam broke my heart. “Something with caffeine. Diet Coke?”
“Comin’ right up.”
The bar displays the same collection of liquor in two sections, divided by a decorative mirror and TV where a soccer game plays. Like the bar from the other night, dozens of flags from Ireland are displayed near the ceiling. My spirits sink lower with memories of the night I gave myself to Adam.