Page 93 of Protected from Torment

A lump comes to my throat at the thought of how quickly things changed between us. A week ago, everything was great. We had fallen into a comfortable routine, we were making plans not just days, but weeks and months out, and I really thought living together was a possibility.

Then the attack happened. And ever since, Tyler’s been like a different person. Not rude or unpleasant—he wouldn’t act like that—but he’s distant. When we talk, his responses are often delayed, like he’s distracted by something else. While we still sleep in the same bed, he hasn’t shown any interest in being intimate with me. And the one time I suggested it, he suddenly remembered some urgent email he needed to send right away.

I wish I knew what I did wrong. Is it because I didn’t stay hidden when he asked me to? Or did everything that happened in the woods make Tyler realize he’d rather be with a woman who could be an equal partner to him, to have his six, like the guys like to say. Maybe he’d rather have a woman like Yara, who, as a former Green Beret herself, would be an asset in a situation like that, instead of a liability.

Or maybe Tyler decided he doesn’t want a woman with so much baggage. I mean, if I look at myself subjectively, I’m not exactly a prize. A history of violence and mental illness, no friends, no job, I can’t give him kids if he wants them…

No wonder Tyler didn’t ask me to stay.

I just wish it didn’t hurt so much, knowing he’d rather I left.

But after years of keeping my expectations low, of planning to spend the rest of my life alone, being with Tyler made me hope again. The things I’d given up on—a best friend, a lover, a partner who put me above all else—seemed like a possibility again.

I even thought I loved him.

No. Not thought. I do. Which makes it hurt so much more, realizing he doesn’t feel the same.

The lump in my throat grows bigger. My nose prickles. Tears press behind my eyes.

I really love him.

But he doesn’t love me back. Not the way I thought he might.

I stare hard at my cookie as my vision blurs.

Sensing my mood, Oscar rests his head on my leg. He doesn’t even look at the cookie. He just gazes up at me with big, worried eyes.

“Melissa?”

Eden’s voice jerks me away from my self-pitying thoughts. “Yes?”

Eden sets her coffee mug down. Tiny whorls of steam are still rising from it, just as they are from the matching mug in front of me. While Eden was making the coffee, she couldn’t stop smiling, finally explaining, “I cut out coffee while I was pregnant. I know you don’t technically have to, but I wanted to be extra careful. Now that I can drink it again, I really appreciate it.”

“I don’t mean to be nosy,” she says. “It’s just that you look upset…” Trailing off, she grimaces slightly. “Never mind. I am being nosy. And rude.”

“What?” I set my cookie down on a napkin. This time, Oscar follows it with a longing gaze. “You’re not being nosy. Or rude.”

Eden leans forward. “I am. You were out enjoying a nice walk with your dog, and I convinced you to come in for a visit with promises of coffee and cookies. Instead, I’m quizzing you about how you’re feeling.”

Now I feel bad. Just because I’m in a crummy mood doesn’t mean I should subject other people to it. Especially Eden, whose only crime was spotting me while I was walking Oscar past her house and asking if I wanted to come inside to chat. She’d been out on her porch, sweeping up some fallen leaves, and as soon as she saw me and Oscar, she waved us over to say hi. “Amanda’s sleeping,” she explained, gesturing to the baby monitor she had clipped to her waist, “and she just went down. So I’ve got some time. If you’d like to stop in, I’d love to catch up.”

At the time, I was glad for any distraction. Anything to take my mind off the imminent demise of my relationship with Tyler. But I didn’t take into account how hard being at Rafe and Eden’s house would be. I didn’t think about the sweet coos coming from the baby monitor and how they’d remind me of the baby I could never have. I didn’t think about how bittersweet it would be to see all the photos of Rafe and Eden, so obviously in love in each of them. I didn’t consider, when I accepted Eden’s impromptu invitation, how much it would hurt to be reminded of what I’ll never have.

But I’m here. And I have to make the best of it. At least, for another twenty minutes or so, when I can make a polite excuse to leave.

“You’re fine,” I tell Eden, working my mouth into a smile again. “It’s nice that you care enough to ask.”

“Of course I care,” she replies quickly. “I hope you think of me as a friend.” A flicker of uncertainty moves across her face. “Or am I being presumptuous?”

“Of course not.” I pick up my coffee cup and take an experimental sip. Though it smells normal, the taste is a little off, and I wonder briefly if the creamer Eden used went sour. But she’s drinking it without issue, so maybe it’s just my unsettled stomach acting up again.

I remember my counselor telling me how the brain and digestive system are linked, and that’s why anxiety can often make your stomach upset. “Then you get stressed about not feeling well,” she explained, “and the stress makes your stomach worse, and it becomes a vicious cycle. Just take a breath, realize why it’s happening, and understand it’ll get better, eventually.”

“I think of you as a friend,” I add. “And like I said, I’m glad you asked.” Then I offer up a partial truth. “It’s been a stressful week, is all. But everything is okay. Really.”

Eden opens her mouth to respond, but she’s interrupted by a tiny gurgle on the monitor. She grabs the monitor and watches the integrated video feed for a few seconds before putting it down again. “She’s still sleeping,” Eden says, looking relieved. “Not that I don’t love spending time with her. But adult time is nice, too.”

“I’m sure it is,” I agree. “How has everything been going? Is she sleeping through the night yet?”