Letting Go (Thatch 1)

“But not today.” It wasn’t a question, he knew.

“Yeah . . . not today,” I said softly.

“Do you want me to come up? I can hang out, crash here for the night, and head back tomorrow.”

“No, it’s fine. I didn’t really sleep last night, so I’ll probably go to bed when I get in there.”

“Grey, it’s four in the afternoon.” He looked at me with either pity or sympathy, neither of which I wanted to see.

“Today was kind of rough, it felt like three smashed into one, and like I said, I didn’t really sleep last night. I’m tired.”

He was silent for a minute before he twisted in his seat to face me. “I’m worried about you.”

I gritted my teeth and took calming breaths before saying, “You shouldn’t be. It’s been two years, I’m getting better.”

“Are you?” he asked on a laugh, but there was no humor in his tone. “I knew today would be hard for you, there’s no way for it not to be. But, shit, how much do you weigh?”

I jerked my head back. “What? I don’t know.”

“Do you look at yourself in the mirror? Do you see how you look in your clothes? You look like you’re wearing someone else’s clothes, and they’re a size or two too big.”

Glancing down at my shirt and skirt, I shook my head. “No, they—well, I’m eating! You saw me at lunch, I ate half that burger.”

“No, Grey. I ate half your burger. You picked it up and put it down at least a dozen times before cutting it in half, and then picking up one of the halves only to put it back down. I watched you. You ate two fries. Nothing else.”

I tried to think back to the restaurant, but I couldn’t even remember ordering the burger, let alone cutting it. I just remembered half of it was gone when the waitress asked if I wanted a box. I’d said no. As for the clothes, today was the first time I’d actually paid attention to what I was wearing in years. I usually just put on clothes and left, not caring to see how I looked.

“Well, what do you want me to say, Graham? I’m trying. You have no idea how hard it is to lose someone who has been a huge part of your world for over half your life. Who has owned your heart for most of that. Who you were supposed to marry days before they passed! You don’t understand what I’ve been through,” I seethed, and wiped at my wet cheeks. “I finished school, I’m living, what more do you want?”

“I want you to live, Grey.”

“I just said—”

“You’re existing,” he barked, cutting me off. “You’re existing, not living. You’re going through the motions you’re supposed to without realizing that you’re doing them, or why.”

“That’s not true!” I screamed. “You can’t judge me based on what you’ve seen of half a day. A day that is a horrible reminder of what happened.”

He grabbed my hand and squeezed, and when he spoke again, his voice was calm. “Kid, I’m not saying any of this only based on what I’ve seen today. Janie’s worried about you—”

“Janie? Janie?! You’re having my friends keep tabs on me, Graham?”

“Grey—”

“How often do they check in with you? Huh? Do they only see me now so they can tell you how I’m doing? Because I don’t see them very much, but then again, who the hell would want to be around someone who is just existing?”

“Grey!” he snapped when I opened the passenger door and jumped out of his truck.

“Screw you and your existing bullshit, Graham! I’m fine! I’m dealing the only way I know how, and I. Am. Fine.”

I didn’t care that there were tears streaming down my cheeks. I didn’t care that I was overreacting. I was overreacting because I was terrified that he was right, and I didn’t want him to be. I was tired of everyone looking at me with sympathy or pity. I was tired of rooms growing quiet when I walked into them . . . still. I was tired of the way everyone seemed to walk on eggshells around me. And I was tired of feeling like I was giving them a reason to.

I took off for my building, ignoring Graham’s voice as he followed me from his truck. Grabbing my keys from my purse as I ran toward my apartment, I fumbled to find the right key so I could get in there before he could catch up with me. The keys slipped from my hand, and I reached out for them at the same time as I tripped out of my sandals and hit the concrete on my hands and knees.

Ignoring the spilled contents of my purse, I rocked back so I was sitting on my heels and let my head hang as hard sobs worked their way through my body.

Two large hands grabbed at my upper arms to help me up, and I swatted at him. “Leave me alone, Graham!” I cried.

“Shhh. It’s okay,” a deep voice crooned. I lifted my head enough to see Jagger before letting him pull me into his arms. “It’s okay.”