IF IT KILLS ME, I TRIED
I wasn't a drinker.
That much was clear in the way my hips instinctively gained a sway, it was embarrassing really, being so loose after half a glass of wine. I decided to sit and watch Pablo do what he did best. I'm drinking white wine, I've never really done that.
I feel older.
I feel like a man, now, really. Everything means more.
The brightness in his eyes is sharp.
I wondered how he kept it together, three hours ago he was a mess. He was sanding art in a hurry, rushing about the bones of the museum, ordering Ben and me around.
It all panned out perfectly.
Ben's here, pressed to my side, big eyes, even bigger smile. He's holding a cheese plate that we both have picked over. I hate feeling guilty for trying to let loose. Everything feels like so fucking much.
I try to sober up when I remembered. I realized a bit more these days that I could catch myself when I start to feel loose, I knew one or two glasses would almost always be my limit.
I didn't drink liquor.
I try to reel it back, and realize how level-headed I need to be to speak with him later. This night was about him and I needed to be at top shape if we were gonna get through it. I need to be present, just in case he isn't.
I don't need to make it worse.
The way he looks, it makes me nervous. He always looks like he's gonna break these days.
"Stop overthinking." It's a whisper.
Pressed into the shell of my ear.
I feel comfort in the way Ben talks to me.
I'm watching Paul, he's pacing back and forth, he steps to turn and look at his work. He has a lot going on, it shows mentally. He shakes his head and then this guy is nodding in answer, this random guy with some stupid beanie and a patchwork suit.
His eyes were this bright, bright blue, He staring over my man as they continue to speak. Paul doesn't look too wound tight, he's speaking, that's what calms me, he hasn't quieted. He's been so quiet these days. The conversation is short and quick, I try to watch for it to become uncomfortable.
Ben's smiled at me now, eyes raking the side of my face.
He's needy, I haven't seen that before and I'm sure it's because of Wren. He's never really nervous, maybe it's the energy in the air. Wren keeps teasing the situation, and I'm sure he doesn't think I know.
He's dancing fingers over Ben's arm when he can, lingering close, t's subtle and it stops my friend in his tracks.
He seems nervous when they touch, I can't read his eyes.
Some part of it feels like... internalized, I don't judge that. He's never really been romantic focused and Wren likes to stand so close.
He's spent more than the last hour in other exhibits, steering clear. That was enough to keep the tension down and Ben's so pressed to my side I'm getting claustrophobic.
"What do you think they're talking about?" He asks. His voice is liqoured up. It feels like the last six months.
The guy talking to Paul looks familiar, we've been here for three hours now, I've seen him probably... maybe that's my mind making up scenarios or the dreamer inside fabricating the whole thing.
I try to react in a way that feels palatable. I nod despite it not being an answer.
I try to relax. I'm on edge. I don't want to relax when Pablo isn't smiling, instead, he's flexing his fingers behind his back. He's forcing a shift in facial expression every few seconds.
He's frozen, he's quiet now. I stand up straight.
"Weird." Ben's speaking through small bites on a tiny hors d'oeuvres plate.
And sipping.
"Exactly."
He wrinkles his nose, then throws the drink back, white gold liquid in a crystalized long-stemmed glass. Ben snorts. "Rich people don't even serve good champagne." He throws those words to the side. His hip is knocking mine, and he's offering the glass to me.
I take the tiniest sip to avoid the questions. It makes me think of Paul in a second, about how many times he's probably done that. I try not to let it consume me.
"That's expensive, it's supposed to taste like that." Wren's had a love affair with pricey wine at rooftop bars... he always found a way to get us in, I tried to ignore the way he kissed me on the tip top of California skies. I can feel it rolling off Ben, that fear I felt.
I wonder if he's actually willing to try. Wren doesn't deserve the hurt, looking for love in places it shouldn't be.
I'm too analytical for my own taste.
"It's 'sposed to taste... bad?" Ben snorts, and washes back snooty words with a pinot grigio.
He's fisting the full glass.
I can't help but laugh, watch as Ben balances his plate on his knee for a second before thinking better, leaning back and putting it in the crook of his elbow so he can readjust with both glasses in hand.
I can't remember when he takes it from me.
He's biting his tongue, I realize I'm looking.
I've been looking at him a lot, Paul's right.
I try to scan Pablo again, they're both facing the wall.
I take my glass back, rest the crystal on a nearby table, a server comes by and picks it up. I'm going to make a comment about how nice this gallery is, turning back to Ben and he's finally finishing the glass of champagne before handing it to the same waiter.
Cute guy, buzz cut, slight smile and his shirt's a little too big. He's making eye contact with Ben, Ben doesn't notice.
My friend is, instead, tossing his arm on my shoulder, motioning forward... referring to the guy speaking to Paul, they've turned to face the piece mounted on the wall and I try to ignore the worry burrowing in my stomach.
Just bubbles.
Ben doesn't notice how the way he's standing has the attention. He commands it, lets you wait for a cue, reels you in. He's leaning on the table, toward this guy, looking over at me and the waiter looks at him with bright eyes.
"You think he's buying?"
I'm shaking my head. The guy steps back. He walks away and I find myself moving before I can stop.
The waiter slips the glass from my hand, disappears.
Ben's behind me, gliding almost like he hadn't just drank enough to have me off my ass.
I don't realize that we're nearing Paul until I'm close enough to touch him. I can smell elderflower from here, a little mint or pine. I hate that I assume it's gin and not the cologne he always wore.
Ben's speaking before I can and a troubled look graces a gorgeous face. Paul wants to cry, I can see it. He's repressing it, as usual.
"Who's that?" Ben asks before I can, frowning over at the door. He's quiet, more than I could've expected.
"Uh, Mike's assistant." Mike's assistant is a woman.
But he could have two assistants, that's plausible. That's entirely plausible.
There is a huge chance that he's not lying to me and I've convinced myself instead so I nod. I smile. "What's wrong?" I try, softer. I try to step closer, my hands find his neck, one on the back, I try to offer that intimacy.
And it works, for a second he sinks into my touch, he lets out a tear, it streaks it's way down his cheek, I press it into the concealer he's left on from the day prior. Paul is pretty good at hiding that, it shows in the way he pulls himself together as soon as he lets go.
He swallows, forces a smile. Gives me those eyes.
It feels like a relieved cry, it does, even when he's pulling my hand off, when he's holding my fingertips tightly and stepping back. He sighs.
"Nothing." I'm trying not to make much of the agitation in his voice. "Nothing's really selling."
"It's been an hour."
It brings a smile to his face, the shrug I offer. I brush my hand across the back of his neck, I tap, a few times.
He doesn't relax. I hate how easy he's depleted.
"Yeah."
I CAN'T READ YOUR MIND
pau
I wonder if it's pathetic how I look for him in a room.
In every room.
In the room I'm having my show in when he's disappeared for far too long and the fabric of his shirt is sticking to my skin. I haven't touched him in weeks.
I haven't kissed him since that night at the hotel.
It played on repeat. The feeling of him on me, in me... The memories, those eyes. The look he gave me when he told me he knew. The looks he gives me around Wren... it feels like he's disgusted by me. This was treacherous, we tip-toe around each other, and I can barely look him in the eye.
I couldn't remember what it was that made me need a drink.
I guess it doesn't feel all that important in the morning.
Nothing matters once I'm drunk honestly. None of the fights we've had matter. I think that's why I do it, why I don't care that he's upset with me sometimes. I think of Izzy.
I think of Wren. I think of how I haven't seen Wren since I haven't seen Jules. I think of all the nights they probably spent together and how they spent last night together, how my boyfriend doesn't like to stay over anymore... and then Mike Truscott is rounding me, wrinkling his nose.
His voice is clipped, it's hidden behind a hard gaze, he's looking me up and down curtly, like he can see through me, "smile."
I smile. He presses a hand to the small of my back for just a second, I stand up straight.
He's sipping when someone approaches. Blonde, tight bun, mole on the upper lip, high cheekbones.
Claudia Pierce, 23rdCenturyMag is standing in front of me in seconds. Mike's bony elbow is now tapping me on the side and he's offering me a glass of champagne. I forget that I have a voice, that I can say no, I don't wanna say no. I've lost Jules, and I don't care that I've mixed and mingled with socialites I've seen in magazines.
I try not to be too quiet, not too seem uptight but definitely not loose.
I can laugh when she makes a comment about the weather but it's delayed.
My love is all I think of, maybe that's why I'm off my game.
I wonder if he's still so upset with me.
The clink of champagne glasses is familiar. Ominous.
The feeling lingers past my teeth. It holds me hostage with a sting on my tongue. I want to taste, reach out to grab, a waiter brushed by and Cliquot bubbles in a flute, sinking to the bottom of the glass. I know Jules is watching. He's always watching.
Until he isn't, until he's stepped away for too long, he's been gone for thirty minutes and I find myself gravitating towards BennyMarin's room a first. The group follows the motion of the crowd. All suits herded into the main gala and the show is starting to begin.
It starts in Benny's room, he makes the first toast, that's just a motion of the hierarchy.
Jules isn't used to it, I'm sure he's outside smoking.
He's made sure not to breathe on my shoulder, so much I miss him there. I wonder where he's been for so long, I know he's not alone and I hate that it feels like he likes Wren.
Jules hasn't really looked at me all day. That's all I can think when Claudia is talking.
She's asking me about my latest work, I let Mike answer.
I try not to go mute, it's too easy.
The sound of quiet luxury consumes me. A gluttonous display of fruit on the tables presented, biblically, blinged-up fingers picking over a bounty. I had heard Benny was contributing a lot to his own exhibit financially but the spread was much less quaint than I'd imagined.
Snooty groups, fists full of money, it dripped from them and BennyMarin stands in the middle of a collection of pieces, he's speaking with grandeur even if it's subdued.
I wonder how much you need in the bank to fend off that imposter's syndrome.
Benny's a stout man, standing about 5'6 but he appears so grand even amongst his large, cement creations. His voice is grainy, gritty like he's been yelling for days, it holds such wisdom, it's enamoring. His eyes are deep set, a head of thick hair falling and grazing wide shoulders, he smiles.
His apple cheeks lift.
I sip, cross my arms over my chest as if to restrain it to one sip.
One sip and I already feel better, isn't that so shit, how the brain works?
Claudia's asked me another question, this one I hear, it's faint, something about how long I've been painting, it's answered by Mike.
She nods, leaves it with a weird look towards me.
I don't care much.
"You know staying within the lines is such a quiet yet confined concept. They don't teach you how to be, just how not to. I figured there'd be no space for someone like me." Benny laughs, he shifts, and the crowd follows suit. Erupting in noise of subtle approval, he continues. "It's hard, being the first one."
It's hard being the second too. The third, the alcoholic.
"It's hard being the first... I was the first in my family to graduate high school, the first to start my own successful business, the first to have grandchildren on American soil, the first..." he laughs, it's full like his belly, it lights up the room.
Wide, working hands spread out, he seems so proud. I can tell it's genuine, it reads honest,"the first showcase in the first all-Latino art exhibition in the great state of Illinois."
"I'm not though, the first in that, not alone. Today, in this showcase, our curators have cultivated a collective..." Benny laughs, "a collective! -Of some of the most amazing artists in the midwest. A few to name are Samu Ionis. Tanya Rodriguez for her fabulous exhibit on the black diaspora and how it expands cross-continents, her take on afro-Hondouran, cross femininity..."
He smiles, my heart stops.
"Pablo-Luis Martinez for his wonderful exhibit centering in on migration, on what it means to be a father through another lens, on being a young mexican-american with immense talent and even bigger obligation, these artists have expressed their power. Unique voices with a rawness and intensity a-and so courageous to let go of such fear... what it is like to be the first, and to be exceptional."
"I wanted to extend a thank you to all of the students who have chosen to spend so many weekends hard at work and dedicated to this gala. And a special thank you to Carlito Calderon, a fine-artist who has been working alongside me and has been such a great help in curating the experience you will have today."
"...Fruitfulness is fleeting, we lose track of the journey when we sit in our resolution. The making of these pieces reminded us that it's what we leave on the ground that matters."
He's dipping his head towards the side where Carlos stands with a surprised smile. Eyes turn to him and Benny makes his escape.
The group I'm with are so immersed in Benny's filler once Ive been named, it's funny how they're so disinterested in me as a person but instead the price tag that's inflated.
I slink away, I spend five minutes looking for Benny before I find him by the snacks. He's picking over the cheese plate as I make my way over. It gives me a second to take in the quiet luxury that is his outfit.
He's wearing a tweed brown suit, a little too big but obviously intentionally. The sleeves are tailor-fit. A bolo tie. It feels like the 70s. His thick mustache hangs over ringed fingers, stuck to his lips, stuffing cheese in a tiny mouth when he turns.
The rings shine, so does his watch. The shoes are shined.
He's licking sauce off his fingers now, using a spoon to scoop some accompaniments. "Taking a break?" He asks, it's funny.
I've been wondering if he actually remembers me or if that's too wishful.
I smile. I nod. He feels familiar, like an uncle. I remember my manners. "Mr.Marin, thank you." Does he know how much he's changed my life? "um... I'm-"
I'm lost for words, he can tell.
"You worked for it. I was coming to speak with you," He speaks, almost musically, it's Tejano. "At some point," he laughs. He puts his plate down to the side, only two bites in because speaking is more important. I cannot speak.
"Since viewing the work you did for Jean-Luc en Espana, the few months you were there resulted in something so remarkable..."
Bubbles make it hard to concentrate but I do.
And it feels good.
"I've wanted to offer you a space in my company. A residency. Of course, I have sent the details to your manager but I figured a one on one would better fit the talent." He smiled, he held my shoulder. He looked me in the eyes and I remember my father. My father would chastise me for being so nervous in the face of opportunity.
"You are... beyond that, you are memorable." Benny nods, "it's hard to be memorable."
My eyes catch Jules in the hall, he's talking to Wren. He's laughing, I wonder what he's laughing at.
They're standing so close.
I can't concentrate but when I do, Benny is frowning, he's looking at me like someone's died.
"I understand that in such a trying time, you cannot really expect more than what you've managed but you've managed quite well, you've done something spectacular." I'm not sure what he's saying. "I mean, twelve pieces in a summer."
"Thank you." It's questioning. He doesn't really notice but I'm so grateful it probably doesn't say much else.
"You should really be getting some time on the floor." He reminds. All I can do is nod. Never meet your idols without a written speech, was it? "I apologize for your loss to be so public. I lost my grandfather too when I was about your age..." I can't hear much else after that.
It's condolences.
My speech I was making tonight lacks substance of any kind, I haven't a thought to that. I can't remember when I felt that hole in my chest, I can't.
I can't think of anything, I'm so hollow. My eyes catch Jules' and Wren's still so close to him. I try not to cry, something feels like it's broken.
He notices, he inches forward, it's as if he's read my mind and I'm looking down.
I'm trying to excuse myself, Benny is reaching forward. I'm crying now, I hide it with a downturnt look, curls falling to cover my face.
He's holding my shoulder with a familial hand.
I kinda wanna throw up.
"If you need any time to talk..." he left it at that, meaningful look, macho grip on my shoulder. Benny then busies himself with Claudia Pierce and I find Mike's hard stare over the rim of my next glass.
I'm swallowing it, it barely soothes that ache.
Another.
He cuts me off shortly after with a chastising look and I find myself slipping away. I've hidden another frown in a glass of bourbon five minutes later, I'm spiraling.
Numb.
SMILES HIDE WHAT SECRETS KEEP
Jules catches me walking through the gallery, right when I've decided to pull out my phone, my hands tremble on the case.
I can't feel anything but sad.
"Pau?"
Like Pao.
"Hm?" My voice was softer, the bubbles in such small doses made me a bit meek, I wonder if he's ever called me that before.
It sets my chest on fire, tears burn behind my lids.
Always papi, pap, pabs, never Pau. I like Pau.
I look down at my phone, it's pressing into my palm by my side. Jules catches wind, my movements are slow.
I'm on autopilot. I can't lose it here.
I don't wanna cry, it chokes me up.
"What's wrong?"
I have to look for that article. I wanna confirm everything, my heart's sank to this pit in my stomach and Jules is looking at me ... and he looks nervous, it feels guilty.
"Nothing."
I guess I look drunk. I guess I kind of am. Not quite there yet, the sadness took over, encased me in tipsy, soaked in my skin. Mike's been talking for me, I realize that I'm the middle man between him and my pieces.
I try not to hurt too bad, try not to bleed pinotage all over the floor.
He's staring at me when I notice again and his face has shifted to stone, he stands up straight, offers a smile over my shoulder. I guess we've been standing here too long.
He waffles his fingers into mine, squeezes them tight.
He hasn't held my hand like this in a while.
He's scanning me, with those eyes, they're soft and forgiving. And worried, so worried.
Jules hasn't tried like this in weeks, he's been so exhausted with me. He's been so sick of me.
He's pulling me closer by my elbows. Hands roam my back when he's gotten close enough, he's trying to look in my eyes.
We've escaped the crowd, found ourselves near the side door, I can't remember when we got to the side door. I'm watching everyone waltz the line of the appropriate amount of drunk to be in public, I've surpassed it. I'm ashamed. Ben lingers across the room, he keeps looking over.
I submit, fold up in his arms. Jules holds me closer, speaks softly only once we've stood in silence.
"You are exceptional." He reminds. "Doesn't matter if they don't see it yet."
I'm blank still. I know since Benny's made his speech I've sold a $15k piece.
I know I see 30% of that. It doesn't matter, it sits in my throat with questions.
I can barely clear my head to start. "Hm?" I try, I try to not get angry.
"Pau, are you okay?" He's asking like he's not lying. Like it's not sitting in the back of his head, like he doesn't care that he's kept it from me.
I don't want to speak. I don't want to fight.
"I'm okay."
"Is it the paintings?" I want space.
I want to step back so I do, I compromise. I don't blow up on him because I already know why he did it.
"Stop."
Jules doesn't step forward, he actually stumbles back. He listens, he always tries.
"What did I do?" It almost angers me how hurt he sounds. I'm the one that reserves that right, I'm supposed to be hurt.
I feel numb.
"Just leave it."
"I don't wanna ruin your night if it's something that I should apologize for." He's trying to get closer so I step back.
I can't stop thinking about shoving him. I can't get it out of my head, I can't let it get bad again. He looks so fucking sad. "I'm sorry, for whatever it is—"
I try not to laugh.
It hurts.
I can't be excited when I see a familiar face in the crowd. Still, I fake that smile.
I catch him talking with Ben. I try not to let my smile waver but Brandon's always been so good at seeing my broken heart. I want to throw up again.
He nearly runs to me, hugs me to him, I feel faint. I can't breathe, I can barely register the look on Jules' face when my body's being jostled.
I feel sick and sick of it all, I try to hold back those tears, swallow them down, my throat is swollen like I've swallowed a brick. I'm holding him tight and my chest is racing and I can't believe he's actually there.
I can't be sad when he's so happy to see me. And it smells like Brandon.
He's holding me so tight, it's like I can relax into his hold, I don't have to function. I meet Jules' eyes over his shoulder.
The stare just seems concerned, no jealousy. My best friend is whispering into my ear, it's enough to keep me together.
"Hey, P." It feels so romantic, I watch Jules' eyes.
I realize what he sees.
I nod, I can't speak.
He pulls back to look at me, steadying me by the shoulders and Brandon's smiling soft.
I can't stop looking at Jules. Jules is trying to avoid us. He looks cramped in the doorway, he's offering a half smile, it's weak.
Brandon's brows knitted. He smells like wood, like a campfire almost.
We're pressing into the exit door almost and I feel sick. I feel so sick thinking of the weeks in LA, of making Jules feel crazy because I was with Brandon.
My brain is pretty much rattling behind my skull, I'm so lost for a second, it feels almost unconscious.
"Feeling okay?"
I nod, I'm still so numb.
My art isn't selling. My grandmother's dead.
"Pete called. How you holding up?"
I shrug.
She's stilling in the mortuary, I'm sure, not where she'd like to be. I remember she wants to be a tree.
He hugs me tighter and says "I'm sorry for your loss." He keeps talking to me. I can see Jules frown out my side-eye, he knows now that I know.
He gets why I'm so quiet, and tries not to show his discomfort but it dances across the worry lines on his face.
B doesn't see how weird it's gotten, maybe he doesn't but he's still focused on me.
My heart hurts, he leads me out the side door.
Jules follows, doesn't seem to mind when Ben catches wind and now we're all outside. All of us almost, Ben is further away, he's busting himself with looking around.
He's sipping slow on some bourbon in a chilled glass, I watch the cold frost upward.
I see the look of satisfaction, I taste it.
I swallow a bitterness.
And Ben keeps looking at me. Jules is holding my hand.
I don't know why he's so close to me.
I try to muster some strength to keep us at a distance cause the pain feels too much.
I want to be in his arms, I want to be alone.
Brandon's giving us space, almost like he wanted to set up a conversation face to face and then let us hash it out. He's rounding the building with Ben, asking questions too quiet for me to hear, I see the gaze he keeps sending my way.
I wouldn't be surprised if they'd already talked about this. If they all chose to set this up cause it's falling apart so perfectly.
And I haven't seen Rilee all night.
"Jules, I don't..."
"If you wanna talk about this later, we can, but your show—"
"Why'd you keep it from me?"
He doesn't answer.
He can't answer, he bites his tongue and he thinks. He's thinking a lot, he's not looking at me.
He cries actually, softly, quickly tries to reel them back. He's wiping at his face. "I'm sorry."
He doesn't try to hide it, doesn't keep it to himself.
"I didn't-I didn't want to..." he tried to explain. "I didn't want to. I just, I knew how important this night was for you." I'm shaking my head, he mirrors. He looks past me and then back at me and I watch him break.
His voice is a whisper. "I couldn't..."
"... I wanted to tell you." He's shaking his head, he feels stupid, I can see it. "I feel so guilty, I-I'm sorry, i-it wasn't my place—"
I trust him, I want him to know that. I try to let my guard down. He tried to see me, tried to give me what I needed.
Even if he was wrong. He's forgiven me for far worse.
I can't forget how he looked at me, like he couldn't believe I'd push him. I wanted to say I couldn't believe I'd do it either.
I don't even wanna know how long he's kept it to himself. I can't stomach knowing how long she's been gone.
"I didn't mean to hurt you, I-"
I know.
"It's your showcase, I, I didn't want anything to ruin it."
How frantic he was this week proved it, the call with my mom... he's telling me the truth, he never really seems to lie. It feels like he's scared, almost, I take that as a sign to be patient.
Because of how patient he's been with me. It still barely feels.
And then he hugs me, he holds me to his chest like he knows I want to recoil. He holds me tighter as if to take it all away.
His voice is garbled in the fabric of my shirt and he's crying. I can feel his skin, wet, pressing into my neck.
"I'm so sorry for your loss, P."
It hits me like a truck.
I try to hold it back, grit my teeth, bear with the pain. My knees give out.
Jules is steadying my waist and it feels like someone's punched me in the gut. Grief is so contained yet so pressed to the edge of me and I just needed a push before there was a heart on the floor.
My heart is six feet under.
I feel anger.
I feel lonely.
Jules is holding me up, he's letting me rest on him. I wonder when I curled into his chest like a petulant child.
Like an inconsolable mess and he's rubbing my back.
-
AFTER THE RAVINE
"I'm at my make amends part of AA. I-uh- I'm at 20 days."
"Why would you lie about that?" He's looking at me like he doesn't know me, maybe I've kept him at such a far distance it doesnt matter. We've gotten back from a hike with all the guys and Jules doesnt want to kiss.
He doesn't want to touch me, I wonder how much I have to do to get on his good side. This isn't good for my recovery, doing it for him. I'm sure the goal doesn't matter as much unless I do it for me.
At least I do it.
I lie to the people that I love so I can keep drinking. Instead of giving him that, I shrug. I pretend I don't know how much he trust me so I can keep lying, and drinking. "I haven't, I haven't fallen off, I feel good." I feel like shit. "I just- I wanted to keep myself accountable and that starts with the truth."
That much is honest.
He gives me empty air, a confused gaze, it's hard to speak but I get to it.
I try to keep my voice down even though Ben's fucking upstairs.
I cross my legs over his couch, turn to face him, it hurts to admit how quickly I fall apart when he's not up under me.
"I-I wasn't sober... that um- that first month after you left." I wanna cry. "I uh- I'm not so good to being alone either."
He nods, it's small, and forgiving. I wonder how many times he can forgive me until he doesn't.
"You didn't make me relapse." I remind. "I-I didn't think... I thought that I could handle five classes and-and freelancing but my photo professor, she, wouldn't give me above a C said I was lacking adventure and I didn't know how to fix that." It all seems so trivial now.
"And-and you need to ace photo to even be recommended for this internship that I- that I wanted." I didn't even get it.
He seemed to understand, I don't know why I didn't think he would. Jules was ambitious, his ambition was often the source of his stress.
"I was taking 5 classes and I was so stressed, and I-and I missed you and I missed everyone being together and..."
"And I went to a bar and I- I hated it... so I bought a case of Modelo for our empty fridge and drank in our home, alone." It sounds so much sadder than it is and now I'm worrying he'll worry about me.
That look he gives me when he's nervous I'm gonna fall apart, I've only seen it twice really. "And I lied. I asked you for so much I understand if you never wanna see me again."
"I drank at my Tia's wedding."
"Champagne, it's a wedding."
"I was drunk the day you came back. In the studio."
"I know."
"When you came back for your- for Jade's birthday... I told you that I was okay and I lied. I was- I finished a pint before going over there." I remembered how long I sat at the bar, how time seemed to elapse and the only thing telling me not to drink was not wanting him to see me that way.
I promised myself I wouldn't let him see me like that.
"You drove home."
"Yeah." It sounds worse than it is... I keep forgetting that it's fucking bad.
"You seemed fine." We slept together. He didn't wanna say it but I could read that on him. I told him I didn't wanna have sex while inebriated, and I crossed my own boundaries.
"We were there for hours, I sobered up." I nod "I love you too much to-" get behind the wheel knowing I'm not okay.
I love you too much to hurt you. I'd kill myself in a blink.
"I was, um, I was drunk on Christmas with our parents. I was so scared to see you again after our break up so I drank a fucking bottle of Merlot." It's so funny now, how scared he looks.
"And my mom thinks I'm gonna fall apart without you and I believe her."
Jules' eyes are so hard to avoid, they're piercing, big and green and full of worry. I wanna distract him from it.
He doesn't want that, he doesn't want me to touch him to avoid conversations, he says that all the time. He says he can't think when I touch him and I know he likes to think.
He likes to overthink.
I can't stop thinking. I can't-
"I don't think I can do it. My Abuelita, um..." I can feel my voice crack before it whimpers out. It's harder than I'd care to admit. "She's out of the critical care unit and she's been staying at my parents'... She doesn't get up."
"She -uh- she talks though and she-she smiles and Pete looks so hopeful." "Like she-like she's gonna make it. She's dying, Jules."
He can't say anything. And I can't think about anything but how Pete will take it.
"It's gonna kill him." It's gonna ruin me and I-I wanted to apologize cause
"I don't want you to feel like you owe me anything." I'm so in love with him, it hurts.
He holds my hand.
He promises to stay.
10-04-23