The emotions surge up, and suddenly, I’m crying.
It’s an ugly, hacking affair, one I try my best to keep quiet, but it doesn’t really work. I press my hand to my face, trying to hold it back, or at least to muffle it enough that Mom doesn’t hear me. The last thing I want to do is to try to explain this to her, or to anyone, ever. This is too personal, it cuts too deep, especially because it’s my fault. If I could just be different, be stronger, and more assertive, then I wouldn’t be in this situation.
Once the worst of the emotion has passed, simmering down to just a major, energy-sapping depression, I turn the taps off, and step out. The steam has fogged up the mirror completely. Cool, I don’t even want to look at myself right now. I wrap a towel around my waist, and plod back to my bedroom. I slam my computer shut, as if it’s to blame, then get dressed in the softest clothes I can find before slumping down onto my bed. I don’t have enough energy to even get under the covers. It’s mental exhaustion. All I can do is wallow. Anything else is too much effort.
“I don’t think I can do this anymore.”
Just him saying that, hearing the resignation in his voice, makes my heart ache so badly.
I wish I knew how to get people to stick with me.
I stay in my room for hours, undisturbed, until a knock finally sounds on my door.
“Yeah?”
“Can I come in?”
I sit up as Mom walks inside, not even waiting for an answer. “I’m going to take a swing and guess something happened between you and Ruben?”
I shrug.
She comes in, and sits down on the end of my bed. “What do you need? Chocolate? Ice cream? Wine?”
“Won’t help. Nothing will.”
“That bad, huh?”
“Worse, probably.”
“What happened?”
“He’s sick of me.” Just saying it makes the tears prickle again.
“Oh, sweetie,” she says, throwing her arms around me and pressing a kiss to the top of my head. “Nobody could be sick of you.”
“He is.”
“Why?”
“He basically said I’m a pushover and he doesn’t know who I am.”
She pauses. I thought she was going to deny whatever it was that he said about me, but him saying that made her pause. Which makes me think there’s at least some truth in what he said.
Damn. Even my mom thinks I don’t stand up for myself enough.
“Do you agree with him?” I ask.
“No, of course I don’t. I’m going to be on your side, no matter what. The thing is, though, I don’t think Ruben is a cruel person.”
“I don’t, either.”
“And you know one of the things I love about you the most is how considerate you are.”
I roll my eyes. “Yeah.”
“Ever since you were a kid you’ve put others before yourself. I still remember you’d always let the other kids beat you in athletics, even though you could’ve won, because they would’ve gotten upset and you didn’t care.”
“I thought that was a good thing. You said most people only care about winning.”
“I know, and it is. But I can see what Ruben is saying. You can’t spend your whole life trying to keep everyone happy. You need to stand up for what you want.”
I wipe my eyes on the back of my hand. “I know. But it’s hard. I feel like I barely even know what I want anymore. I know I want to be with him, but he doesn’t want to be with me, so, yeah.”
“Can I ask something?”
“Sure.”
“Did he explicitly say he’s breaking up with you? Because if he did, you need to respect that, and give him space.”
I shake my head. “He said: ‘If you can’t give me anything more than “I want everyone to get along,” then I don’t think I can do this anymore.’”
“Well, if I can teach you anything, it’s that you should actually listen to people. Ruben is telling you exactly what he wants. It’s not that he’s done with you.”
It sinks in.
“He wants to know what you want,” she says. “So tell me: if you could have anything in the world, what would it be?”
“I want to be with him,” I say. “And I want to work on this.”
I think I get it.
No, I know I do.
“I have an idea,” I say. “I think it’d work better face-to-face, though.”
I know it’s a long drive to the airport, so it’s a big ask.