; “Well...not every single thing. But so what?”
“This is obviously still bothering you,” I say quietly, coming to kneel in front of her.
“Can't it just be that I'm scared? Everyone gets scared sometimes. Why can't that be true for me? Isn't it natural to be worried about these things?”
“Yes, but Sweetness, you need to talk about it.”
17
Emily
Here Jake has proposed to me, asking me to spend the rest of my life with him and we're back to the subject of my mother. Should I really go see a therapist? Probably. Will I?
No.
I'm fine. I'm going to do everything in my power to ensure that my mother has no effect on me anymore, and I'm going to prove that to Jake. I just have to figure out how. I can't lie, though. My heart still believes what my mother told me. My heart still hurts from the abuse. I've been pretending that everything is perfectly fine, when Jake was right all along. Don't get me wrong, I love the boy with all my heart. But sitting here, looking into those green eyes, I realize once more that I've got to do something to push past this.
I haven't been dealing with it. Jake came along, and I jumped at the opportunity to feel normal again. I thought that if I could fall in love and immerse myself with love, this wonderful, extraordinary piece of life, that I could forget my past.
I was horribly wrong.
My past has been festering and molding. It's time that I face it. But how? Part of me wants to tell him everything. Every single thing that happened to me. That's it. That's what I have to do. Worry creases his forehead with my silence.
“I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry,” I barely whisper. “I feel like I don't deserve to be engaged to you until I get myself in order. I can't marry you knowing that I haven't accepted my past. It would be wrong for me to continue using you.”
“It's fine, Sweetness.”
I shake my head to interrupt, but he keeps talking.
“I hate that I was right. I wanted to be the reason why you are better, but I'm not and that's okay. You feeling better about this is all I want.” Leaning into Jake, he says, “Are you going to see a therapist?”
“Guess so,” I sigh causing Jake to release a soft laugh.
All I want right now is the comfort that emits from Jake's body into my own. We sit there in content silence for about ten minutes until we hear Drake bustling about out in the hallway. He knocks, and Jake calls him in as he sits beside me on the bed.
“Can we go to skating?”
“Sure.”
Drake runs out to grab his skates and Jake kisses my temple before finding his own. We are just getting into his car, when Mr. Benson arrives. Jake's jaw clenches and he mutters that he'll be right back as he follows Mr. B inside the house. Jake came home one night after riding around to find that Mr. B left Drake home alone to go get drunk. Sitting in the car, Drake and I can hear the argument thanks to the open driver's door and the front door. Jake is finally having his say with him. Torn between interrupting or waiting, I hear a gut wrenching sound.
Jake yells in frustration and walks out the door, slamming it as he storms out. My eyes find the source of the painful sound. Jake must have punched a wall because his knuckles are bleeding. Looking up, Jake sees me. His shoulders relax as he keeps coming towards me.
“Are you okay? Let me see your hand,” I ask as he gets in the car, shutting his door with a bang. Jake doesn't utter a single word. He sticks his hand out, and I look down at his, cradling it in my own. His warm, rough fingers move against my palm. I can feel his gaze on me.
“Hold on,” I say, reaching into the compartment in the dash. I find a napkin and begin to wipe the blood off gently. “I'm sorry,” I say, practically speaking to his hand. Drake is watching silently from the back seat. I finish wiping Jake's hand while Drake asks if we can get McDonald's for breakfast. Almost scared to look Jake in the eyes to see the anger, even though it's not directed at me, I answer Drake. I release Jake's hand, and he backs out of the drive way.
We go through the drive-thru and eat on the way to the rink. Drake disappears inside, and I take the chance to talk to Jake.
“Let's go in with your brother and have fun. No matter what you feel right about now, Drake probably feels worst. If I were him, I would feel as if my father abandoned me for a drink. Maybe you should talk to him.”
“You're right. I will later. Let's go have some fun,” he finishes as we walk inside. Being back at this place brings a twinge of anxiety. I take a deep breath and push it away. We are skating for about thirty minutes when Jake's old coach shows up, a big grin on his face.
18
Jake
“Well if it isn't Jake Benson, Mr. Big Time!”