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Everything’s wrong.
Everything has imploded spectacularly.
Nothing is okay, and nothing is going to be okay.
This is my new mantra. The thoughts have repeated themselves for hours, jumping around every recess of my brain like they’re the main feature in a game of Pong.
It’s well past noon, and I haven’t eaten anything. My head is reeling and I feel like I could be sick, but my rumbling stomach is not helping things feel any better. I swipe my cruise card from the desk, grab my phone, and open the door.
“What are you doing here?” It comes out harsher than I mean it to, but we’ll blame that on the surprise of seeing Sawyer sitting on the floor just outside my room.
He scrambles to his feet, brushing off the back of his sweatpants. “I’m so sorry about earlier. I—”
“Stop. Please.” I hold up a hand, and to his credit he listens. “I don’t have the energy to do this right now, okay? I just need to get something to eat.”
“I figured.” He checks his phone before pocketing it. “Food should be here in less than five minutes.” My mouth opens, but I can’t find the words to say. But then he speaks, and I don’t need to. “Listen. If you want someone to talk to, I’m here. If you want me to go away, I’ll leave. If you aren’t sure what you want, I’ll sit back down right here until you figure it out.”
I retreat a few steps, the proximity overwhelming. “I—I don’t know. I don’t know anything right now.”
“No one expects you to. You’ve been through a lot today.”
The tears are hot behind my eyes; I didn’t even know I had any left in there. The past few hours I’ve cried angry tears, sad tears, exhausted tears, and I’m not even sure what kind these are that threaten to spill out of me.
Sawyer stands in front of me, shifting his weight, scanning my face before looking away, letting me have privacy with this torrent of emotions. Then there’s a box of pizza in his hands, a five-dollar bill slipped to the person who placed it there. He sidesteps me into the room and sets the box on the desk, moving to leave, to be unobtrusive. His shoulders slump and his head hangs, and he seems so small again all of a sudden, like he did earlier in this trip. And I hate seeing him go back there.
“Hey.”
He pivots toward me.
“You don’t expect me to eat all of this by myself, do you?” I offer what I can, which is probably a hint of a wildly unconvincing smile.
“I do, actually,” he says, and I wince at the words.
“Oh. Okay, I—” I messed it all up. I pushed him away. I ruined everything. The thoughts race through my head, but the words I could say to try to fix it get lost in my throat.
Sawyer reads me and his eyes go wide. “No! Sorry, I didn’t mean…” He shakes his head and rolls his eyes. “It’s just that, it’s disgusting, this fruit-covered thing you call a pizza.”
Then everything I’ve been holding back comes pouring out of me. All the heartache, all the unknowing, all the hurt. First it’s laughing, then it’s sobbing, and then Sawyer’s arms are around me and his chin rests on my head. “I’m getting your shirt all snotty.”
“I’ll borrow one of yours. It’s only fair.”
I squeeze him tighter and burrow into his chest. “Why are you being nice to me right now?”
He tenses, then relaxes his grip on me and looks down. He smooths some flyaways behind my ears and turns up the corners of his mouth, though his eyes are all sadness. “I’m not being all that nice. I think you’re delusional. You probably need to eat something to help you snap back to reality.”
“Okay, fine.” I shrug out of his embrace. “I’ll go eat my incredible pizza all by myself.” Sawyer takes a step backward toward the door, but I reach for his hand. “Not by myself. I mean, I want you to stay. If you want to.”
“Of course,” he says. I don’t let go of his hand until we’re on the couch, and even then I take the middle seat next to him. It feels better with him here. Not good by any stretch of the imagination. But not as shitty.
The pizza smells delicious, and I feel Sawyer’s eyes on me while I devour the first slice. Not in a judgy way, just observing. I’m halfway through my second slice when his stomach growls, and I nudge the box toward him. “Please. Eat some of this.”
He wrinkles his nose and leans in, picking up a slice and picking off the pineapple. “Thanks,” he whispers, taking a bite.
“This was really sweet of you. Thank you.”
He continues to chew, staring at his shoes. “No problem.” At first I welcomed the quiet, but now it’s awkward, like he’s intentionally avoiding talking to me or even looking at me.
“I, uh… I’m not used to people going out of their way to do nice things for me, other than Gram.” Even saying her name feels like a dagger to the heart, and I press the heels of my hands to my eyes. “I’m going to be completely alone.”
