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I don’t know why, but I’m afraid that my presence will upset her more. I watch her face to gauge if that is true, but it’s hard to tell with the tears streaking down her face.
Convinced I’ll upset her more, I take a step back to give her space. If I were her, I would be mad at me. Because I might as well have been the thing to make her fall. We always run together. And I let her down. She must hate me. I would hate me.
I do hate me.
Guilt tears through my chest until it strangles the breath from my lungs. This is my fault. I should have never left her to run all by herself.
“I think I sprained it,” she says, eventually. Her green eyes are big and wide and sad. She doesn’t look at me.
How could I have let her run alone?
“Can I take a look?” I ask this time before approaching. I watch nervously as she holds out her arm to me, which is already bruising pretty badly. “I think you’re right.” The rest of what I want to say I have to swallow down like knives.
This is my fault. This is all my fault.
I wait for her accusations to start. I wouldn’t blame her if she were angry, or if she wanted to push me away. In fact, I’m prepared for it. But this is Astrid, so of course she doesn’t. She doesn’t even look mad. I don’t deserve her kindness. Especially not today.
It almost makes it worse.
I know what I need to do.
I sit down next to her and lead her by the elbow towards me. I wrap her wrist for her, securing it with the little metal clasp. “I’ll take you to the ER if you want.”
“I’m alright.” She wipes the tears with her uninjured hand. “I’ve sprained it before. It’ll be fine.” She sighs, wincing when she accidentally bumps against something.
“That’s a six week heal time, at least.” I feel my heart thump. I should have been there. I should have gone with her.
“Six weeks isn’t bad,” she says, her voice small.
“Isn’t bad?” Does she not understand how unacceptable this is? That I did this to her? She should be shouting or screaming at me. It’s what I deserve for abandoning her.
“I doubt it will even take half that long, Sean,” she says turning away from me and back to the coffee maker. “I’ll be fine.”
I can only watch her try and fail to make herself a coffee for so long before I feel as if I might snap in two with self-loathing.
“Astrid, let me help.”
There are tears in her eyes now.
I can feel my left eye twitch. I’m so mad at myself that I could scream. But self-loathing won’t help to make her feel better. I rub the tension from my face before confronting her. I don’t want her to see my worry. She clearly has too much going on already.
“Here,” I say, taking the cup from her hand. “Go sit down. I’ll bring it to you, okay.”
“But you don’t know how I?—”
“Ice all the way to the top and just a splash of almond milk.”
She blinks at me. Her mouth opens and closes but no words come out, as if she’s surprised. How could she think so little of me? Of course I know how she drinks her coffee. I pay attention. I know everything about her. I’ve been watching her nonstop for months now, trying to learn everything that I can.
And yet I’ve still found a way to let her down.
“Go sit down,” I say again. I decide that if she doesn’t listen this time, I’m going to carry her to that couch and tuck her in with a blanket so that she can’t move.
“W-what are you doing?”
“I’m taking care of you.” Something I should be doing a better job at.
My plan is to make it up to her by caring for her the rest of the day. I can start by getting her coffee, and then create a comfortable spot for her in the living room. But I’ll need to do more. This is a small price to pay for my mistake. My chest tightens. I know I might deserve it, but I hope that she doesn’t hold this against me.
