Broken Dreams(108)

We were almost to our exit and I turned and looked at Henry. He sensed me staring and gave me a sideways glance. Then he refocused back on the road. He cringed and rubbed his temples again, grabbing his aviators and pushing them on his face. The tension between us was obvious, but I still loved him and cared about his well-being.

“Still have a headache? Is there anything I can do?”

“Yeah, still have a headache.”

“Do you have any pain relievers in here? Is it a migraine?”

“No and no.” He rubbed the back of his neck. I was so worried. Something was seriously wrong. I worried that he had some sort of terminal illness or was about to stroke out. Then I remembered the vials and needles in his pack.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Yeah.”

“What are the vials and needles for?” He stiffened. “I took your pack, and there were some in there.”

The seconds ticked away while I waited for a response. Henry chewed on his lip as he wrestled with his thoughts. He took a couple deep breaths, and I thought he was about to let everything out.

I sat silent, but not patient. Then I decided to add a few more words into that tangled web of thoughts that was wrapping around and choking off his mind. “My thought is anything that is in your pack would be for use in the moment. I can’t see why you would carry needles for the moment, unless you were sick or something.”

“Well…” Then he whispered, “Fuck me.” God, I wished that I could. My body missed his. He did know how to formulate intellectual sentences. I had heard them before. But he seemed at a loss here. “I must have forgotten to take them out at some point when I found them.” It was a plausible answer, but I had a feeling that he was feeding me yet another line of bullshit.

Goddamn it, I wished he would just tell me the truth. He wouldn’t even look at me. Couldn’t he see how much all his deception was tearing us apart? What the fuck was wrong with him?

“There is so much you don’t know, or would not understand. And now is not the time to discuss all of this.” I was pissed, and my attitude was about to come to the forefront and stomp all over the conversation.

“When will it be time? You keep saying shit like that, but you never give up the information. How do you know that I wouldn’t understand? Do you think that you are so far above me intellectually that little old dumb Elaina couldn’t get it?”

“No! That’s not what I’m saying.” He growled in frustration. “Because, Elaina…just fucking because!” he shouted, and then grabbed his head. I recoiled toward the window. “I’m sorry,” he whimpered. “It’s a lot more complicated than you think. I can’t just blurt out whatever it is you are looking for. There is so much to it. It needs a lot of detailed explanation and background information.” He inhaled sharply, then rubbed his temples. I could see his joints stiffening. His muscles seemed tight, and life was fading from his face.

“Henry, please tell me what’s wrong. You’re hurting, or sick, or something. There is something wrong with you! You are scaring me!”

“Shit,” he whispered to himself. I could see his struggle, and I could see it was paining him to keep whatever it was from me. I felt sorry for him, but I deserved to know what was going on. Yes, I felt entitled.

“Complicated or not, Henry, I deserve to know what is going on with you!” I yelled back.

He cringed. “You do, and I understand that you do. But…”

“But what?” I was so pissed.

He was lost. He began rambling. “If I confide in you, I will break the trust of many people. Many would get hurt or killed, including us and everyone around us. I can’t risk that.”

“The trust of others? Who gives two shits about the trust of others, Henry? And you can’t tell me? What the hell?” I threw my hands in the air.

“Ugh! Damn it!” He slammed his fist down on the steering wheel again. “Please. Please just give me some time to figure this out, okay? Just drop it for now.”

“I don’t know if I can.”

“Please, I beg you…” He paused again. “Let’s just concentrate on devising a plan to get to your parents’ house.”

“I’m so fucking worried about you,” I mumbled.

“I know. I’m sorry I’m doing this to you.” Then he choked out, “To us.”

I was incensed that other people knew of his health circumstances, but he couldn’t tell me? I would bet my last sheet of quilted toilet paper that Sophie knew. I didn’t respond to him. I just stared out of the windshield.