this thing upon me, howls like a beast. you flower. you feast. [p]

^{call me in the morning, tell me how last night went —}

As soon as I glance at Luke, suggesting that he could drive me home, I could see clear as day in his eyes that what I said hurt. Maybe I should've phrased it differently, should have said "as long as it's healthy for me" but it doesn't change the fact that I threw even our friendship up in the air. It wouldn't hurt him any less, but I've never lied to him before and I wasn't going to start now. The entire reason I'm the way that I am is because there was a time when I didn't walk away when things stopped being good for me. Of course, there's no way for him to know that, to know how important it is that in every relationship, friendship or otherwise, I have the power to walk away, to cut all ties at a moment's notice should things get bad. That's just one of many reasons I know that even if we were going to try being something more, I couldn't be what he needed in a girlfriend. Because he's protective by nature and when you've been what I've been through, protective (even in very normal doses) feels suffocating. And I would never want him to change who he is for me, but I can just imagine the constant tug-of-war that would be going on if we ever did try to become something more serious. It simply wouldn't work. While we have undeniable chemistry, I continuously try to find a way to transform that chemistry into something stable and healthy and loving, and the bottom line is I just can't. I can't picture a timeline where both of us come out of it better than when we went in. We'd come out even more damaged if anything.

Of course I'm coming to this realization much too late for us to come out relatively unscathed, and I can't explain how much I hate my drunk self for begging to see him. But it's come to me nonetheless, in the passenger seat in his car, my heart breaking not just for him this time but for the both of us. Not just for him, but for me, because Luke is the absolute best possible person I could be with and I still don't think I can do it.

His silence hurts more than any words he could say to me and a single, silent tear rolls down my cheek as I gaze out the window at the sunny day turned gray and drizzly in a matter of minutes. It feels oddly symbolic and poetic and I hate it. I don't do anything except watch water rolling down the window and then we're in the parking lot of my apartment complex but I can't get out just yet. I don't know if this is the right decision in the long run, but I don't know what else to do. This is what I firmly believe is best for us at the current time, and I silently pray that he's able to recognize that. "Thank you for everything you did for me last night and this morning" I all but whisper, still looking out the window. When I do look at him, it feels like looking in a mirror, yes we're nearly polar opposites but emotional exhaustion is universal and I know that's what we're both feeling in this moment. "I-I need some time to figure whatever this is out, and.. I just need to be alone a while, at least a few weeks" I add softly, sadly, hoping he understands that this is most likely temporary, cleansing my system until I feel like I can at least be a friend to him again. "I.. I just don't think I can be what you need.. or what you deserve" I concede. I know that's a pretty common excuse but I really mean it. He doesn't say anything yet, like I expected, so I gently place my hands on his cheeks and kiss him, long and deep. Not a passionate or hungry kiss like we typically share, but one full of longing and sadness. I keep my face pressed close to his for just a moment longer, my eyes closed as I whisper "I'm sorry" to him and finally get out of the car, running through the rain into my apartment and not looking behind me, knowing there's no way I could handle seeing him right now without absolutely falling apart.

^{— i'm here. but don't count on me to stay}

^{call me in the morning, tell me how last night went —}

As soon as I make it inside, not making any detours until I've reached my bedroom I just f*cking lose it. The full-blown meltdown, ugly crying face, the whole nine yards. Like I'm in f*cking high school again, crying over a boy so hard I figured I might as well die. I want to believe that this is the right decision, that nothing bad ever came from giving yourself some time to figure it out, but then if this was the right choice, I absolutely should not be feeling the most emotional pain I've felt in literal years. I truly can't remember the last time I cried over something that wasn't a sad movie or someone dying. I chalk it up to the hangover and the rain and decide to give myself a day to pity myself before I get back on my feet, so I crawl back into bed, disappearing into myself for however many hours until I fall asleep again.

The next three weeks somehow pass incredibly slow and fast at the same time. Every waking moment I spend doing something, focusing on school, playing Animal Crossing, trying out new recipes and going on directionless runs. I let myself get lost on these runs, which clearly isn't the safest thing but it's meant to be a reminder of why I'm better off alone. I don't have to explain myself to anyone, there's no one worried about my whereabouts, or worried about my safety but myself. I find these runs to be exhilarating but they also kind of feel like I'm trying to prove something to myself. A way to remind myself look how great it is to be alone but why would I need to be reminded if there wasn't someone in the back of my mind making me doubt how great it is to be alone? No matter, I find a way to pass the time with little to no thoughts about Luke, fully due to the fact that I don't give myself the time to think about Luke.

I also haven't gone out since the night I ended up at his apartment, because I haven't had any desire to invite someone new into my bed but more-so because I've been consciously minimizing the chance of running into Luke before I feel ready to talk to him. I wouldn't say life has been good for the past 3 weeks, but they have been easier, and that's not nothing. But my friends are starting to get fed up, which is both frustrating (because I haven't told them what's been happening lately) and amusing (because they miss partying with me). After sending several texts already, declining all offers to hit up our favorite bar, it starts to wear on me and I start to think about how the past few weeks have been good, but I guess I am starting to miss going out with my friends, letting my hair down a little. I go back and forth on the matter for several hours, weighing the costs and the risks until much later than I normally leave for a night out, but better late than never I suppose. I finally make up my mind to accept their offer, albeit a few hours late, partially because I want to but mostly because I'm fairly certain Luke won't be there anyway.

By the time I arrive, I take a quick scan of my surroundings, finding my group of friends at a table littered with empty shot glasses and pitchers, as well as some still full, and I think I'm in the clear. What comes next happens in a blur, after being greeted by the same girls I just told I wasn't coming and downing a handful of shots to catch up with them, I follow them out to dance. The alcohol has certainly helped my mind to not get caught up on what it's been wanting to think about for 3 weeks but I still want to keep busy just in case. After several songs I'm starting to consider stepping out to get another drink but as I am scoping out a path to the bar, I see something that instantly causes my heart to drop to my feet. I start to feel like I can't breathe and I tell my friends that I'm going to step out for some air, shutting down the "let me come with you"s with a warning glance not to follow me.

I don't move towards the front door, but I squeeze through the high-energy, sweaty crowd towards the side door that leads to the alley. Not the safest place on earth but it's usually quiet other than the occasional couple making out and it's exactly where I need to be so I can catch my breath for a moment before I call an uber home. It's not until I get out of the crowd, checking that the alley is empty before I realize the steady stream of tears down my cheeks. The kind that you don't even notice is happening until you wonder why your cheeks feel wet. It's a warm night so I all but collapse against the wall leaning my head against the brick and taking a deep breath with my legs are pulled up to my chest. I reach for my purse to dig out a box of cigarettes and a lighter, a bad habit that I'm not proud of but I only use when I get stressed or overwhelmed and need a minute to calm down. I can feel my heart rate slowing and my breathing start to feel more natural by the time I take the first drag but it doesn't do anything to stop the tears from coming and I give up on trying to stop them, not ready to process what I saw in there and yet not able to stop playing it on loop in my head.

^{— i'm here. but don't count on me to stay}

^{call me in the morning, tell me how last night went —}

As I'm outside, having my mini pity party before I give up and just count coming out tonight as a huge mistake, I'm basking in my own self-hatred, cursing myself for being such so selfish and melodramatic. This is exactly what I wanted, truly there's nothing that would make me feel better about myself than seeing Luke move on, seeing him at least try to enjoy someone else's company, even if it's half-heartedly, it's still a step in the right direction. But if that's true, that this is what I wanted, why can't I stop crying? It's not something I'm consciously doing, it's just happening and I don't know why. Or maybe I do know why, and I'm just not ready to admit that I'm so rattled by seeing that because I don't like it. I'm not sure, all of this is hard to process when I've spent the last few years learning how to not feel emotions, it feels like I'm brand new to it, even though I wasn't always like this, cold and calculated and a little bit mean to stop people from getting too close. Having emotions feels like something I need to re-learn, but I haven't yet so I just can't piece two and two together and admit why I can't stop crying.

I hear the alley door open and realize how entirely pitiful I must look. I was certainly hoping that when I spotted what I knew immediately was Luke with another girl, I was the one who noticed him and he didn't see me, but I know as soon as the door opens that I wasn't that lucky, not that I'm entirely surprised, he's an incredibly observant person, I'm actually surprised one of us didn't spot the other sooner than now. I know he has something to say before he even says it, but I wish he wouldn't. I don't really want to talk to him right now, not because I am mad at him or anything like that but because I wish he weren't here right now. I wish he were inside, continuing whatever he was doing with that girl. Then I could pity myself for the mess I made and he could go on forgetting about me, at least then I wouldn't have to carry his pain that I caused on top of my own. I let out a soft laugh as he launches into his monologue about how sorry he is, about how nobody means as much to him as I do. "I'm not mad at you, but you shouldn't be out here right now. You should be in there with her, that's exactly what I wished would happen" I tell him without the slightest hint of sarcasm or bitterness because that is the truth, my words directly in conflict with my still streaming eyes. I'm sure it's confusing for him, but he cannot possibly hope to understand my emotions right now, because I don't even understand them. All he needs to know is I'm not upset with him in the slightest, just processing something I don't fully understand yet.

"Really, I want you to have fun, you deserve it more than anyone I know. I just came out to get some air and then I was going home anyway" It's not a lie but it's a gross understatement, that I just came out here to get some air and I hope that he just listens to me and doesn't push it, even though it's clear as day that I'm not simply "getting some air". I don't hate him, I never could, but I certainly am not in the right mindset to talk to him, clearly. I feel like an emotional time bomb waiting to be set off, like I could sit here and just dump all my baggage on him in this stupid alleyway because the weight of everything in my past and present is nearly crushing me.

^{— i'm here. but don't count on me to stay}

^{call me in the morning, tell me how last night went —}

As the tears pour relentlessly down my cheeks I recognize that in this moment I'm having a full-on emotional breakdown, and I feel so f*cking out of control, every passing moment feels like a weight on my chest getting heavier and heavier because he just doesn't get it and I don't know how to make him get it without telling him the entire story. Start to finish, no detail excluded, which is something I haven't told anyone but my f*cking therapist. I can't find a loophole, I don't see any other way to make him understand. Yet just thinking about the story makes me feel sick to my stomach. I know I am so far gone, so far past the point of sanity, so deep in the black hole of my mind and my memories that even cigarettes can't slow my pounding heart and the lit cigarette trembles in my shaking hands so badly that I just stub it out on the ground even though it's only half finished.

Once he grabs my face and I have to look into those soft blue eyes of his, I know it's all over. I know I can't keep this massive secret from him because I have no other way for him to get it. To get why this would just blow up in our faces if we were ever even brave enough to try it (although we both know I'm the one lacking bravery). As soon as I look into his sincere, sweet eyes the passive crying gives way to full on, ugly crying face, can't even pretend to be ok anymore type crying. "No, no, no you don't get it!" I cry, my voice raising out of frustration but not out of anger towards him. If I had something in breakable in my hand, which I wish I did, I would shatter it against the wall right now. The emotions are overwhelming to the point where I feel like I'm having an uncontrollable tantrum like a toddler would. The kind of breakdown that comes from someone who's at a complete loss of how to process their emotions in that moment. How he's not completely scared away from seeing me like this is beyond me.

"You're not hearing me! I can't be anyone's girlfriend. Not now, probably not in the near future, maybe not ever" I cry turning my head away sharply away from him because it is physically overwhelming to look him in the eyes right now, I'm shaking so heavily and can barely breathe. I know he's never gone throwing around the 'girlfriend' word before and he's told me that he can wait as long as I need but if we don't take a step towards being exclusive then all we'd be doing is exactly what we have been doing and clearly that hasn't been working. Whatever we are right now is not sustainable, so while I know in my logical brain that he's not asking me to be his girlfriend right now, what we are right now is certainly not something that could last 'as long as I need' which is indefinitely right now. I thought it would get better over time and it hasn't so that idea's a bust too. "I can't be that because the last time I was 'somebody's girlfriend' I nearly lost my f*cking life over it" I cry, holding my head between my knees because I feel dizzy and like I might actually throw up and I know it has nothing to do with the alcohol. "I need to go home right now" I manage to get out, getting to my feet in a super not-graceful way and using the wall to hold myself up, looking towards the end of the alleyway where the street is and I can order an uber to pick me up. There's not a soul on this earth who knows what Luke knows now and now that he knows I physically can't stand the amount of memories that got dredged up just from telling him that. I need to be anywhere but here. I know what I just told him raises many more questions than answers but that's the exact reason that I've never told anyone about it.

^{— i'm here. but don't count on me to stay}

^{call me in the morning, tell me how last night went —}

Although this kind of meltdown is not entirely new to me, it has been years and years since I've fallen down that hole into those memories from those months where it felt like my world was ending. Those memories that I tried so hard to forget, and when that didn't work, repress. The person that took years of healing to become, the independent, fearless and just slightly cold-hearted girl I was came crashing down in a matter of minutes and to say it feels like the world is ending in this moment feels like an understatement. Part of me knew that whatever I was doing before wasn't sustainable, pushing anyone away who dared to get closer to me than sex, refusing to even entertain the idea of ever getting into a relationship, refusing even the idea of being exclusive with anyone, repressing any thought of trusting a man again so thoroughly that all it took was one look into the eyes of the greatest guy I know to completely unravel me. One look in the eyes of the guy who has barely even flinched at all the walls I put up to keep this from ever happening again. Who was barely even deterred, who refused to be scared away.

Although the absolute last thing I want is to still be here, and I want even less to have to face Luke after telling him what I just told him, after acting so unhinged when he's barely even seen me cry, I'm somehow still thankful that he's not running away right now. I can't stand the idea that there's another soul on this planet who knows what Luke now knows but I also physically am not sure I can make it home by myself. He pulls me into his embrace, wrapping his arms so tight around me that it should scare me but for some inexplicable reason it doesn't. Somehow, even in my most vulnerable state, where I can't decipher right from left, I can feel that he has no ulterior motives for doing this. It's not a romantic embrace, it's not a controlling gesture at all, it's just something he somehow knew I needed, to be held, to bring me back down to earth so I can at the very least breathe again. I don't push him away, I don't want to nor do I have the energy to. Instead, I grasp at his sturdy form, grabbing handfuls of his shirt just have something to hold onto and sob into his chest, soaking the front of his shirt with my hideous, wounded-animal cries.

I don't quite process what happens next, I don't remember verbally agreeing to letting him take me home but I certainly don't disagree and I know that in this moment I have no choice but to relinquish what little is left of the control I have to him because I can barely stand on my own. By the time our uber arrives I don't feel much better but I do feel as if I can breathe slightly better, the pressure on my body from his embrace working some of it's magic, reducing the feeling that I am actually about to die slightly. He helps me into our ride and I do my best to keep it together, to fake it as much as I can because I know how this looks to anyone but the two of us. And while normally I would appreciate a strangers concern about my safety as a woman, I absolutely cannot deal with any detours from here to the sanctuary of my bed. I manage to keep it mostly together for the short duration of the ride, and by mostly keep it together I mean I didn't scream at the top of my lungs like I wanted to nor did I try to jump out of the moving vehicle. It is nearly comical how insane that sounds, how much of an accomplishment it is in this moment, where I don't even feel like myself but like my brain and body were hijacked by every repressed emotion and painful memory.

^{— i'm here. but don't count on me to stay}

^{call me in the morning, tell me how last night went —}

When we get to my apartment I feel physically strong enough to get inside, thankful for that small mercy, but I feel miles away from feeling like myself again, like it would take days and days of crying to get this all out of my system and I'm already so f*cking tired. I hold back on spilling out the entire story right then and there in the Uber, but it feels like I can only hold onto it for so long. It feels like someone poked a hole in my memories and there's nothing I can do to stop everything from spilling out. All it took was that single sentence I nearly lost my life over it. A lot of people in my life know bits and pieces of the story, and an equal amount of people don't know any part of that story, but up until today, I was the only person carrying the weight of that sentence. The thought alone of that sentence being in the open, being someone else's to have and use however they want is enough to send me back down but I miraculously refrain because I'm too busy listening to what Luke has to say.

I can't make eye contact and I haven't stopped crying since I left the bar but I listen to every word he says closely, thankful to have something to listen to that isn't the chaos in my head. I listen as he tells me about his childhood and his upbringing, his family life and his relationship with his father rolled into a few short sentences. And I keep crying and crying, from the weight of my own memories and the weight of his too. And I hear him, I hear how difficult it is to talk about for him, I feel his pain, I really do and I know he's no stranger to trauma. And although it's surprising to me simply because it's horrific and the first time I'm hearing of this, it makes sense. I know for certain that Luke is not his father, but he is his father's son. He's kind and patient but fiercely protective, especially towards women and especially when there's alcohol nearby. I am almost certain those traits are a direct result of his upbringing but it's also those exact traits (not just in him but in anyone) that make me never want to fall in love again. Nobody gets into an abusive relationship knowing it's going to be abusive. By the time it all fell apart, my mind could no longer separate what was him "just being protective" and what was a red flag. To this day I still don't know. That's why I'm like this, in the most simplistic way. It's been easier to be alone than to panic over every little behavior that could be normal, or even sweet in the right circumstances, or could be the death of me. It's too much to bear.

"I'm sorry too" I whisper, wiping my eyes although it's useless against the torrential downpour. What I'm sorry for, I can't quite say. I'm sorry for myself, for the forces somewhat beyond my control that have hurt me so much. And I'm sorry for him, for the hand he was dealt and the experiences he's had. And I'm sorry, for the thousandth time, for being so indecisive, for hurting him damn near every day with my silence, and that it's not about him in particular but about me and the things I can't get past. Sorry, sorry, sorry.

I certainly don't know if two wrongs make a right, if anything I'm more doubtful than ever that we could ever work out, but in this moment, as I feel myself spiraling down, I need someone to hold me and talk me down. And despite all our flaws and our pain and the idea looming over my head that it could never work, I still feel thankful that it's him. I feel strong enough to go upstairs, wanting to be in my bed where I always feel safest but I know I'm not ready to be alone with my thoughts. "I need to lay down, can you stay, at least until I'm asleep? I-I can't be alone right now" I all but beg him, knowing how out of character this is but also knowing that everything about me tonight is out of character.

Once he's helped me upstairs and into my bed, I clear space for him on half of the bed, silently asking if he would hold me in his arms in case I start to lost control of my body again. For the first time in a while, I feel safe. At least safe enough to tell him everything, knowing there's almost nothing worse about this story than what he already knows and feeling like I need to get it all off my chest, especially since he was so forthcoming with me, I feel like I owe him at least that.

"He didn't want to hurt me, not like that. He wanted to keep me" I say so softly and meekly that if the room weren't dead silent I don't think he would hear.

^{— i'm here. but don't count on me to stay}

^{call me in the morning, tell me how last night went —}

As Luke climbs into my bed beside me, silently accepting my demands as I expected he would, I start to feel like the words that are about to come out are a mistake. It's only my natural reaction, it's the defense mechanism I've held for years in it's last legs of life, trying to stay alive. It feels like I'm about to make the biggest mistake of my life, but that feeling is losing the battle. It's losing to the warmth of his body and the strength of his arms that make me feel like a child again, in that way when you cry into your mother's arms and feel like there's nothing in this world that can hurt you. There was a time where I would cry into my mother's arms for the same reason that I'm now crying into Luke's, but all she knew was I was crying over a breakup, not over what it actually is, which is the story that's about to come pouring out of me. He doesn't say anything, just holds me and strokes my hair as I bury my face into his chest. He and I both know what comes next and he's giving me all the time in the world to get there.

"He was my high school sweetheart, that all-American, star of the football team, every girl had a crush on him type of gorgeous" I start at the very beginning, hating myself even now, for romanticizing him in that way, but that's truly how I felt at the time. I think that's how most 16 year old girls feel when they see a boy like that, especially when he's a local star and a senior. "I still don't know how I was the one who got him when every girl in my school was in love with him, but I did. And things were good and easy for a long time." It was like every high school movie ever, all the happy memories I've long destroyed in pictures, his prom then mine, his graduation and then mine, football games, summer nights, the whole nine yards. "Then I came here, and he started acting weird. I just thought it was the distance starting to weigh on him, I said 'he's just being protective' but it wasn't just that. He always needed to know where I was, who I was with and eventually he started showing up unannounced so I would cancel my plans to be with him." I tell him although I understated how this change happened in such slow motion that after the fact I couldn't even tell where everything fell apart. I also realize how this might be weird for Luke to hear, because he knew me during freshman year and even in the midst of my crumbling relationship it was still a well kept secret. I never aired my growing frustration with my then boyfriend to anyone, and I still went out and enjoyed my first year as much as I could and dealt with the argument that came later, all in private. Luke may or may not even have known at the time that I was in a relationship at the time, lots of people I met in college don't.

"It really fell apart the summer after freshman year, when I was back home and he could have me almost all day, every day." Once we had gone back to being nearly inseparable, I should have known he would never want me to go back to the life I have here, where he doesn't entirely exist and I have much more freedom than any high school kid or person living with their parents does. I pause there, squeezing my eyes shut and taking in a shaky breath because what comes next is so horrific to me that I don't even know if I can say it. "I.. He.. he got me pregnant that summer. I found out later he had poked holes in the condom" I manage, the shaking returning to my body as it all comes back to me. The entire realm of pregnancy and motherhood and all that can be so scary to begin with, but when you're nineteen and your first love knocks you up on purpose to try and trap you, it feels like your world is ending.

^{— i'm here. but don't count on me to stay}

^{call me in the morning, tell me how last night went —}

As I reach this part of the story, falling back into my memories and struggling to stay present, to remind myself that I'm not that girl anymore and Luke is certainly not the guy that did this to me, I find it difficult to continue. I remember so vividly if I close my eyes that muggy July day, locked in his bathroom staring at a positive pregnancy test feeling like the world was ending. I remember knowing there's no way I could have a baby right now and if he thought I was going to keep it and put my life on hold to play house with him he was f*cking insane (which he was but I hadn't come to terms with it at the time), but I was also so scared to how he would react if I had an abortion, and I didn't know how I'd get one without him finding out. And I just didn't do anything about it for a while. Forced into inaction, suspended between two vastly different lives, where neither path felt right or safe. As I stop to catch my breath, moving as close as humanly possible to his warmth, I hear him speak softly, telling me how sorry he is, how he's here for me. I hear his words but I let them drift in one ear and out the other because the thing is he doesn't have to say that because I just know. I can just feel that what he says is true or I wouldn't be here, spilling the details of all the reasons I felt so broken that I could never learn to love or trust again.

"He wanted me to drop out, have his children, play house with him for the rest of my life" I continue, barely able to keep the sobs out of my voice anymore. It's been so easy over the past few years to blame myself for this or that but at the same time, I was a child and he was supposed to be the love of my life, I was doomed from the start, there's no way I would've ever been able to navigate that situation with a clear head. "I thought about having an abortion but.. I was so scared of what he would do if he found out" I admit, still feeling a flicker of anger towards myself in this moment, despite years of therapy spent trying to convince and remind myself that I am the victim. "It didn't really matter anyway, I miscarried two weeks later. Probably from stress, I could barely eat in those days, but I don't know. I didn't tell anyone about the baby, not even my doctor" Certainly not my friends or family, only he and I knew about it, and I didn't even want him to find out, but we were practically living together at that point and he was expecting it to happen, he would've found out anyway.

The topic of my miscarriage is another one I had to spend years unpacking. Ultimately, it both endangered and saved my life, as if it's not already such a complicated topic to begin with. I felt thankful that I was able to get out of teenage parenthood without having to make the decision myself, and then immediately felt guilty for thinking that, because it was still my baby as much as it was his and people spend years trying to get pregnant while I spent every night silently praying I would find a way out of it. It's something I could think about for hours, falling into the never ending cycle of gratitude and guilt, but this story's almost over so I find a way to power through the equally scary ending. "I told him I miscarried while he was driving me home one night, he started screaming and yelling, saying I did it on purpose, saying I went behind his back and got an abortion. I had never seen anyone that angry before" I recognize that this might be a familiar story for Luke, and my heart aches for the part of him he shared with me earlier, thinking that the kind of fear that comes from somebody so far gone from rational thought is likely a familiar feeling to him. "He was driving like a maniac, kept threatening to crash the car and kill us both" I recount, a chill running down my spine as I can practically feel the same fear coursing through my bloodstream. I managed to talk him down, tell him how sorry I was, how much I loved him, how we could try again, how I would do anything for him but at that point I knew it was all lies that I needed to tell just to make it out of that car alive. It pains me each and every day that it took him threatening my life for me to realize I needed to get out, but I still managed it anyway. "I.. I really thought I was going to die that night" I finish, barely holding myself together yet at the same time feeling like a giant weight had been lifted from my chest.

^{— i'm here. but don't count on me to stay}

^{call me in the morning, tell me how last night went —}

As I lay in my dark bedroom with Luke's arms wrapped tight around me crying quietly, the single most defining and traumatizing experience of my life completely laid out in front of him, I come to the realization that I still don't know what this means for us. It certainly feels monumental that for the first time I've shared this incredibly personal and terrifying experience in full with someone who's not a licensed medical professional, but part of me hoped that this conversation would somehow magically help me to feel like we stood a fighting chance. Sure, he's not running away, not after I freaked out at him in the alley behind a bar, not after sobbed into his chest, gave him the weight of my past to carry on his shoulders as if he doesn't have enough to carry. But I don't feel an immediate change in my outlook on whether or not we could work. It's difficult to describe, I trust my gut enough and I've known him for long enough that I'm mostly sure he would never do anything to intentionally control or hurt me. Of course the chance is always present but I trust him more than I ever really thought possible. That's not the issue.

The problem is if we ever tried, I imagine our relationship would consist mostly of me freaking out about something he said or did and him having to bring me back down to earth like he did tonight. It would consist mostly of him bearing the burden of trying to teach me how to be and love like a normal f*cking person, and in the end it might not even work, and then we're both worse off because of it, not even able to exist in the same friend group anymore, the exact thing Luke was worried about all those weeks ago coming to fruition, that we wouldn't always be friends at the very least.

You're safe now, Reagan. Of course, I logically know that I didn't feel unsafe with my ex until it was much too late, but the words feel so different now that they're coming from someone that I can believe. "I know.." I whisper, burrowing my face back into his chest, inhaling his cologne. "But don't you understand what I mean now? Even really normal things are so hard for me to deal with" I say, realizing the words themselves could come off as cold or harsh, but the low volume and trembles in my voice make them just sound sad. Which is what they are, that's what all of this is, it's all just sad. "You'd waste so much time trying to help me learn how to love again and at the end of the day it might all be for nothing" No one has endless patience and although this is all just a hypothesis of mine, I can't imagine an outcome that's not incredibly strenuous on the both of us, especially knowing he has his own battles to fight, I don't know if we'd have the energy between the two of us to deal with mine. I know this whole night started about the two of us but derailed long ago, and I'd really just like to sleep for an entire day after the emotional toll of reliving and retelling that entire story to someone for the first time, but not knowing where we go from here is hard. I tried for the past 3 weeks to be ok with not knowing, figuring it would come naturally to me in time and clearly that did not work. "I don't know where we go from here" I admit, knowing how completely uncharacteristic it is of me to not know. I long for the girl I was a few months ago when even if I didn't have it all figured out, at least it felt like I did. Now I just feel uncertain.

^{— i'm here. but don't count on me to stay}

^{call me in the morning, tell me how last night went —}

As much as I feel like Luke and I could stay awake the entire night talking about all the new information we know about each other, and a part of me wants to simply in a futile effort to understand what's changed between us tonight and what we'll do tomorrow, I know I'm losing the fight to sleep. The mental exhaustion I feel in this moment is indescribable, between the panic attack I had outside of the bar and spilling all the details of my past, it's hard to keep my eyes open even when my mind is reeling. I imagine Luke's in the same boat, after sharing his history and having to hear all the agonizing details of mine, sleep is probably in both of our best interests.

I guess I wasn't quite expecting Luke to have all the answers either but my heart sinks ever so slightly to hear that he's just as lost as I am in this situation. Well, I suppose, he's not just as lost as I am, he certainly tells me that nothing I told him has scared him in the slightest, even though I firmly believe it should and that it would for most guys. That he still cares about me as much as he did back when we met. But he doesn't know where we go from here, and that's another key difference between us, he's not nearly as stressed about that as I am. He's fine with not knowing all the answers right now and I'm not, even though he knows all about where my issues stem from, those issues haven't gone away by any means, and I still feel the insatiable need to control everything about every relationship I allow in my life. He has patience that doesn't seem to run out but I want answers. I want direction, I need it because where we stand right now, so far past friends but not together drives me insane, I hate being suspended between the two. "You should know by now that I have to have everything figured out" I murmur, trying my hand at a joke (with a hint of truth in it) for the first time tonight, after being so weighed down by all the dark and scary parts of life. But I know I can't keep my eyes open much longer, so I shift slightly, not as focused on being held as tight as humanly possible but still not letting go as I find a position slightly more comfortable for sleep that won't require amputating one of my limbs by morning.

For once in my life, I do take his advice, taking a deep breath that's still slightly shaky and closing my eyes as my muscles continue to relax. I take a few more deep breaths, each one steadier than the last and my eyes finally dry up, like they ran out of tears to cry "I love you" I whisper for the first time, knowing that's been true for a long time but knowing that after tonight there's no way I could hide it anymore. "and I hope your mom and sister are okay" I murmur sleepily, in that tone where you can tell that the person will be asleep before the end of the sentence, feeling no small amount of guilt for making tonight all about me when I know he has so much going on in his mind as well. Knowing what I know now, how he took on the role of protector for the vulnerable people in his life, it feels wrong that he would be here, keeping me safe from threats that aren't real or tangible in the same way his family issues are. Yet, I'm still glad he is. There were about a million other ways I wished tonight had gone, but it was important that it happened at some point and I know now I never could've held it in forever.

^{— i'm here. but don't count on me to stay}