Don't Say Anything

86. Sweetheart

Will's POV

"You're right," Matt says taking a sip from the drink in his hand. "Thank you, Sweetheart."

Call your own girl Sweetheart, I want to say, but I don't because I know he meant it goodheartedly, and he always drinks too much at these things. Also, from the body language in the circle, I can tell that their marriage isn't going to last much longer, just like I predicted.

Jessi's body becomes rigid next to me, and I'm not sure why. I pull her a little closer so she knows I'm here, but she doesn't move, or look up at me like she normally does.

"You alright?" I whisper to her while some prestigious French doctor starts telling a story.

She doesn't respond.

"Jess?" I bend down a little to look into her eyes, and what I see makes my heart drop. Her eyes are wide and fixated on the glass she's holding. She looks like something is preventing her from breathing and her hand is shaking so much that it's almost spilling her champagne.

"I'll be right back," I whisper to Matt, who's standing next to me, and briskly walk Jessi away from the group. I'm glad she's able to walk, because carrying her would cause a scene. One, it would bring a lot of unwanted attention on me and Jack would twist it in a way against me. But most importantly, Jessi would be extremely embarrassed when she snaps out of it.

I walk into a small room being used as storage because it wasn't big enough to put displays in.

"Jess," I take the glass out of her hand and set it on top of a nearby box. "Jess, wake up. It's okay." I cup her face and rub my thumbs across her cheekbones. "You're safe with me."

Her body snaps to attention, even more than it already was, and she takes a step away from me.

"Stop," she says looking around the room, but not really focusing on anything.

"Stop what? Are you still-"

"Get away from me!" she yells and backs up until she's against the wall. I feel like I've been punched twenty times in the stomach. I have to continuously remind myself that she didn't mean it. She's delusional. But just seeing her yell that at me is one of the worst pains I've felt.

"Jess, it's me. It's Will. I'm not going to hurt you."

I slowly take one step closer and she scurries over to the other side of the wall knocking over a few empty boxes in the process. Her eyes stare at me, but they're glossed over. They're open, but she's not actually seeing what's going on.

"Please, Jessi." She cowers down with her knees into her chest on the floor. I squat down so I don't look intimidating from her place on the ground. "Baby, it's just Will. It's me. We're in Paris. We're going to the Louvre on Monday. You know what that is, right? With all of the art work."

She whimpers and pulls herself into a tighter ball.

"My God, what happened?" I say more to myself because I know there's no way she can answer. What could have happened to make her like this? It's not like she lived in a rough area or had abusive parents.

"Jess, I hate you seeing you like this. Please wake up," I beg desperately. I feel so helpless. I can't touch her and I can't get through to her. It's worse than torture. "I can barely stand it. Please. I love you so much."

A beat later, she exhales a deep breath that she must have been holding in and releases her grip on her knees. Her eyes blink rapidly before focusing on me. I see tears forming in the corners of them.

"Will," she breathes and I rush over to her. The second I get down on my knees next to her, she collapses into my arms, the tears escaping her eyes.