…
Scheduled for Friday
by Anton M.
68: Two Dinosaurs
…
Friday, March 17
"Bahati! Bahati! When will we see you give an interview?"
"Are the rumors true?! Did you spend the night with your boyfriend when his father overdosed?"
"Is your boyfriend's weight loss because of meth?"
I cast the last person a glance as scathing as I was capable of, in absolute disbelief of the shit they came up with.
"Over here, Bahati! Over here! Who are you wearing today?"
"Is it true that you had a panic attack yesterday?"
My eyes found mom in the mirror but she was thankfully still finishing her call and didn't catch the question from the noise. Emmett did, though.
"How do you comment on the criticism that you don't behave black enough for a black girl?"
Emmett shut the truck window, apologizing as we inched forward behind Travis who was parting the crowd for us.
"I read that half of your paparazzi are from LA, but I'm still surprised they haven't gotten tired of hounding you."
Distracted by seeing dad and Edward getting out of dad's car in our driveway, I replied, "LaTonya thinks it's worse because I don't post much about myself on social media."
Emmett scoffed and fought a tic but smiled nonetheless. He'd been in a great mood, lately. "Are you the only teenager in America told to spend more time posting about your life on the internet?"
"Unfortunately," mom answered from the backseat, having finished her call.
Emmett parked his car behind dad's. The gates closed behind us.
"What's going on?" I asked Edward and dad, hopping out of Emmett's truck before Emmett could question me about my panic attack.
Drowning under garbage bags stuffed with clothing, dad slammed the car trunk shut and tilted his head at Edward but didn't reply. Instead, he kissed mom and disappeared in the house with her. Barely visible under a similar mountain of bags, Edward stopped walking and faced me. The jeans and long-sleeved T-shirt he wore hung looser than they used to. His eyes were perpetually hidden behind sunglasses we'd only realized were Garrett's after seeing headlines about it.
Edward crouched to kiss me but his expression didn't change, not that I'd expected it to. I hugged him. "You okay?"
He relaxed against my body but only hummed in reply. It was a stupid question, anyway.
I forced him to give me a few bags to ease his load. We entered our house, climbed upstairs, and dropped the bags in what used to be an empty room.
"What's going on?" I repeated, motioning at the room now brimming with plastic bags.
Edward tucked his sunglasses on his collar before he intertwined our fingers and pressed his lips against the back of my hand. His gesture tugged at my heart.
"I had two wall-to-wall closets brimming with women's clothes, and you're always saying how you don't have any of your own." Sounding deceptively disinterested, he motioned at the room. "Problem—meet solution."
"You can't just— Edward. These were your mom's, or Esme's. You can't just give them to me. What if I wear something you recognize? And your dad—"
Ignoring my slip-up, Edward averted his gaze. "I could only tell the difference between their clothes because of which rooms they were in, and my mom didn't wear most of her closet. I guarantee you I couldn't even tell which clothes came from them."
"Edward…"
"My mom was tall and gran-gran kept stuff from the seventies. It's old, outdated stuff. I don't expect you to like any of it." Edward paused, searching my face. "I'll take it straight to donations if you already know you'll hate it."
This practical, impassive Edward scared me, so I stepped into his arms to hug him. The yearning for his old self intensified when he kissed my hair.
"That's insanely sweet, baby," I told him. "I'll try them all. Thank you."
To an untrained eye, Edward didn't look that different. Skinnier and more stone-faced around the relentless paparazzi, but otherwise unchanged.
Except I did not have an untrained eye.
Edward had never felt more different.
He'd changed. The way he looked at people (contemplative and silent), the way he interacted with adults (painfully practical), the way he no longer went along with Jasper's teasing. The way his mind traveled far away in the middle of the conversation and he only came back to us with a, "Sorry, what?"
He didn't cry, either, at least not in front of me. Just like he'd said.
Edward took it upon himself to break the news to Riley. Riley did not understand. The boy thought Carl's absence was temporary, just like the absence of his parents, and it did not fit into his brain that his uncle would never return. It didn't make sense. Where did he go? Would he return if Riley was a good boy? Would he return if Riley ate all his vegetables? Did he die because Riley hadn't lent Carl one of his dinosaurs? What was death, anyway?
Riley had never, apparently, understood that auntie Lizzy wasn't away on a field trip. He'd been too young.
It was only when Edward couldn't promise the boy that Edward would never die that Riley's lip began to tremble. If Riley gave Edward his favorite toy chasmosaurus, would Edward then promise he'd never die? What if he gave five? What if he gave all of them?
Witnessing Riley's teary-eyed bargaining from the kitchen was impossible without a lump in your throat, especially when Riley crawled in Edward's lap and began to wail into his neck. (Mom remained unaffected, of course, but maybe crying wasn't possible when you were already dead inside.)
Letting Riley sob himself empty, Edward looked at me with the most heartbroken eyes but he didn't shed a tear.
He also struggled to eat.
My boyfriend who hadn't met a sandwich that couldn't be inhaled was vomiting his guts out every morning (just like he'd said). Mom, learning of this, drove to pick Edward up after school (even though he was staying with Jasper) and took him to the doctor. The anti-nausea medicine they prescribed Edward made him dizzy enough not to be allowed to drive his motorcycle, but the insomnia he experienced could've been either the medicine or the grief. Not that I would've known.
Edward only stayed with us for the first night. He spent the initial week with Jasper, the weekend with gramps, and the second week back at home in his double-wide. I didn't like it but I'd never lost anyone, and there wasn't much I could've done other than to let him know that I missed him and that he was more than welcome to stay with us.
Unlike last time, though, he spent his evenings at our place (or called me if he had other plans). Except for the fright he gave me when he didn't call for the first two nights he spent at Jasper's, he hadn't skipped our calls. He sounded so adult, so strange, full of practical information as he avoided the elephant in the room, but the way his voice softened, almost breaking when he told me he loved me and missed me nearly made me burst with longing.
I wanted to wrap myself around him until all his pain slipped away.
He bonded with my dad. Dad was building a lampworking space behind the garage and spent his evenings creating a professional, elaborate Mike Aurelius-inspired ventilation system. He ordered lampworking filters, tungsten-tipped tweezers, jacks, bench rollers, and a bunch of other things he'd taught me about when I was younger. Dad only agreed that I pay for the highest quality annealing kiln because its arrival would give him a better excuse to spend more time with Edward.
I was eager to join them at first but decided to back away after interrupting the second deeply personal discussion about dad's drug-addict mom. Dad would've been okay talking about my other grandmother around me, but there was something in the quiet questions Edward asked and in the reassurance in dad's tone that made me reconsider and join Riley doing his "homework" in the living room.
Riley worshipped Edward. He wanted to do all the things Edward did, including "homework", so my parents bought him a stack of tracing books for him to practice letters and numbers with.
He was smart, too. Edward avoided talking about his dad if he could help it, and yet Riley picked up on the change in his demeanor, gave him a toy silvisaurus—the closest one to pink he had—and told Edward, "It would make the big sad go away."
If only, Riley. If only.
And yet, every evening, just after my parents encouraged Riley to start his bedtime routine, the boy ran out of his room with a different dinosaur to slip in Edward's pocket, reassuring Edward that the sad would pass quicker with more dinosaurs.
My boyfriend accepted the toys with a bittersweet smile and a hug.
I wished I had dinosaurs to help take away Edward's big sad.
Edward was growing into an adult so quickly I was terrified that he'd wake up so changed one day he'd realize how useless I was in supporting him. He had this new, contemplative, distracted quality about him, speaking more with his eyes than words.
I wouldn't have known how to stop him if he decided to walk away again, but I was doing my best to be there for him. We called and messaged and talked, and while he didn't pour his heart out about his therapy sessions, the pauses and sighs between his soft baritone voice assuring me that he was okay (he wasn't) gave me as much hope as the little routine we'd developed.
He'd show up for dinner, spend time behind our garage with dad, and kiss me goodnight after pocketing Riley's dinosaur.
Gramps visited often and sometimes brought his boyfriend Dennis. Both got along with my parents beautifully. Edward insisted on writing a contract with Garrett to be on the hook for paying for the top-tier therapist Garrett found him, but after a long, almost sweet debate, Garrett only agreed to sign a contract if Edward, after beginning to receive a six-figure salary, agreed to pay for someone else's therapy.
Edward agreed.
Garrett also swooped in with his lawyer, taking care of stuff I'd never thought about, and my parents often sat down with Edward to handle paperwork.
Edward hated all the lawyer-related stuff. I found it fascinating.
Desperate to make sure that Edward felt supported, I invited people to stay over for dinner, which meant that our new second-hand dinner table got the kind of use mom had always dreamed of.
Distraction was the name of the game during dinners: my dad enlisting Edward in encouraging Riley to try spring rolls, my mom convincing Edward to eat seconds (he couldn't), gramps sharing one of Edward's mom's recipes with mine, hoping that the butter-garlic-tomato pasta Edward had loved as a kid would increase his appetite, Garrett's larger-than-life stories of celebrities and Namibia, and Emmett shyly conversing with Rose, pretending he wasn't over the moon by her presence—and in the middle of it sat Edward, stoic and preoccupied but visibly touched. Jasper joined, sometimes with Alice, drawing Edward out with his teasing (even if Edward didn't reciprocate like he used to), and I was eternally grateful that everyone I invited for dinner arrived with the mind to distract and support. I had this amazing group of people I wanted to share with Edward, and even if he felt alone, I needed him to know that he had this mighty family desperate to figure out how to help him.
Based on the hilarious gifs Jasper rained down on me, he'd been mind-blown by the Nala revelation, and other than the pretend-fainting he performed when he first met me after the UM teaser dropped, he'd been surprisingly normal around me.
During one of the first dinners, when Edward left to go to the bathroom, Jasper slid into Edward's chair and asked, "How's the fishbowl?"
I gave him the stink eye even if his description of my life struck the bull's eye.
"Masen told me he got temporary brain gangrene and broke up with you for, like, three hours. So I have to know. If he pulls that shit again, will you both get custody of me? Masen gets first dibs, obviously, but I think a 50/50 arrangement would be nice."
My laughter faded when Edward reappeared in the kitchen, but I didn't have time to consider how inappropriate my joy felt when Jasper leaned closer. "That voiceover shit you do with your cat." He gave a meaningful glance at Edward. "He falls asleep to that."
No other words could've cured me from the stage-fright of posting content with nineteen million followers, and I got rewarded with Jasper sending me tears-of-laughter emojis and photos of Edward watching my new video with shining eyes.
Perhaps the biggest change in Edward was his willingness to ask for my parents' help. He didn't lean on anyone if he could avoid it, so it was a big deal when he approached my parents about being unable to pay the debt collection agency hounding Edward after his dad's death. It was lucky he spoke to my parents because, without an estate, Edward did not inherit his dad's debt unless he began to pay for it, which my parents forbade him from doing. His dad's debt wasn't his responsibility.
And now, here he was, offering me all of his mom's and gran-gran's clothes, furiously kind-hearted underneath his distracted, stoic face.
Edward and I stepped into my bedroom. Unused to the cozy, secret attic vibe my mom and I had worked on, I almost didn't notice the unmarked wooden box on my table.
My eyes snapped to Edward's.
"Is that—?"
"My dad?" he finished. "What, you didn't recognize him?"
Unsure if I was allowed to laugh, I blinked up at him.
"Sorry." Edward gave me a self-deprecating smile. "I've spent too much time with Jasper." Tracing his fingers along my spine, he leaned closer and searched my eyes. "You're allowed to laugh, you know. You haven't laughed properly since— You don't even make jokes anymore. It's okay."
Overwhelmed by him voluntarily touching the topic of his dad, I slid my arm around his waist and leaned against him. "It feels insensitive. Wrong, somehow."
"I get that, but—" Edward slumped and pulled his bottom lip in his mouth. "I miss it. I miss you. I miss your funny."
Hopeful butterflies danced in my heart. I kissed his chest.
"And thank you for uploading new videos. Mr. Bahati is a thing of beauty. No wonder the world worships you."
"I made them for you."
Edward's eyes softened. He kissed me. "That's good because I probably contributed to half of your views."
I scoffed. I caught a lot of flak for my newest videos (given their timing in relation to Edward's loss) until masen650 commented on one of them with a feather and a heart. Enough people knew his identity that his comment received a lot of love and the disapproval dwindled. I hated that Edward felt the need to reveal his username but he wouldn't have been my lovely boyfriend if he didn't try to protect me.
Edward's fingers stopped brushing against my spine as our eyes caught the wooden box my table. Cobb County paid for the cremation given Edward's (lack of) income, but I didn't know that was today.
"We scattered mom's ashes on gramps's land," Edward said. "Gramps wasn't keen on putting dad there with her but it's what dad would've wanted. It's what mom would've wanted. They were a solid couple before the crane accident. Dad always told mom that she was his everything, but I never—"
I blinked back tears but Edward only shrugged.
"We're doing a small thing tomorrow," he continued, his vulnerable eyes searching mine. "Will you come with me?"
I pressed my lips against his knuckles. "Of course."
…
Sunlight flickered under the live oak on the mountainside. Damp grass chilled our feet. Mom tried to prevent Riley from doing acrobatics on the old bench that gramps and Edward had painted and dragged under the tree in honor of Elizabeth, but a single, sunglass-covered glance from Edward stopped mom from scolding the boy.
Sparse small-talk interrupted the ruffle of leaves as Edward walked under the outer edge of the oak's branches. The only one of us not in black, Edward wore dark jeans and a maroon hoodie with the patch of green I'd sewn on its sleeve.
"The wind is from east," he said the first words of the day since dad had picked him up from Jasper's. "So if you can just—" Edward motioned for us to move toward the bench. Riley crawled in mom's lap, dad held mom's shoulders, and gramps stepped next to me, clasping his hands together under his stomach.
"Do you want to say a few words?" gramps asked.
"No." Unapologetic but not curt, Edward observed us from behind his sunglasses, and I yearned to understand if he wanted me beside him but decided that I could handle his rejection better than knowing he hadn't found the words to ask for my support.
I felt Edward following me with his eyes when I went to stand next to him. His shoulders slumped. Behind us, my parents scolded Riley for whining, and it struck me how ordinary the crisp morning felt.
Wind flopped Edward's hoodie to cover his shoulder as he held out the box.
"Will you hold this?" he asked softly.
I took it. Edward opened the lid and removed an ash-filled plastic bag before he untangled the knot on it. Silently sliding his hand in mine, Edward held the bottom of the bag and tipped it upside down.
The ash that didn't fall on the grass blew lower, away on the mountainside, marking Edward's dad's last journey to his mom.
Edward shook the bag before he folded it and returned it in the box. Lips pursed and jaw tight, he didn't say a word.
"Is uncle Carl also now a part of this tree?" Riley slid off mom's lap and ran to us. Edward crouched.
Riley slipped another dinosaur in Edward's palm, chattering (about how he'd forgotten to give it to him earlier) so carelessly that I almost didn't notice him producing two new toys from his jacket pocket.
"I brought auntie Lizzie and uncle Carl their own dinosaurs so that they can be happy forever! Do you think they'd like that?"
Edward's face tensed. His nostrils flared, and his struggle not to cry made my heart ache.
"Yeah." He gulped. "I think they would."
Riley ran to the trunk of the tree, set the two dinosaurs to face each other, and searched for pebbles to make a fence for the toys.
I gave the box to gramps before I crouched beside Edward. He squeezed my hand.
Quietly, we all watched Riley make a little home for the two dinosaurs, complete with branches pressed into the soil and a little oak leaf for the entrance mat.
Edward pulled the back of my hand against his mouth, and the tremble he attempted to hide made my world swim.
Happy with his work, Riley rushed back to my parents, asking questions about the food preferences of the species of dinosaurs he'd given to Edward's parents. Gramps motioned for us to leave, but Edward struggled too much with his emotions to agree.
"You guys go," he forced out, hoarse voice carefully level. "I'll catch up."
My heart broke for him but I pulled away, preparing to get up. Edward yanked my hand back, shaking his head, his lips quivering as he mouthed, 'Not you,' unable to talk without crying.
He took deep, quiet, shaky breaths while the little group glanced backwards, worried for Edward but respectful of his wishes. They disappeared. Edward pulled me up with him, and I didn't even get to see his eyes underneath his sunglasses before he crushed me in a hug. He pressed his lips against the top of my head and began to sway.
"He didn't kill himself." His chest shook with ragged breaths. "His meth was laced with fentanyl."
Relieved that the worst shadow above him had lifted, I kissed his chest.
Before the ambulance arrived, Edward told me to get his dad's phone, unlock it with Carl's fingerprint, and record his own to open it. I felt like a criminal but Edward was in no state to be denied. He wanted to see if his dad had sent anyone a message, to see if he'd planned it.
Carl's messages with his dealer were so full of slang and code words they felt encrypted to me, but Edward knew enough to decipher what little they said. Carl's dealer had confirmed that the crystal meth was clean at 11:51 PM, and he'd likely delivered it half an hour later based on the timing of the short call between them.
So when the shock of Carl's death hit my parents—and the world—with my introverted, serious boyfriend pretending to be okay in the middle of it, Edward's worst fear wasn't whatever newspapers would conjure up about himself or his dad's death; it was that the lab would confirm a fatal meth overdose.
"I gave the phone to the police," Edward continued. "Not because, not because of vengeance, or, or… but whether or not the dealer knows his meth is contaminated, he might, might—" He swallowed. "I don't want anyone else to—"
Blinking back tears, I squeezed him tighter. I was proud of him, so responsible in such a fucked-up situation, still taking care of others.
Surrounded by the rustle of leaves and the occasional spring birds, Edward and I swayed gently in the wind until clouds made the chilly day even colder.
Edward made a few attempts to clear his throat before he pressed his lips against my hair and asked, "Would it be okay if I stayed with you guys tonight?"
…
Rain pattered on the tilted roof window above my bed. Edward's breathing had evened but he kept pulling at my curls, clearly awake. I lay in his arms, naked as we snuggled so close we had to throw my blanket on our feet not to overheat. But Edward didn't let go, and neither did I.
"I called you, that first Sunday evening," he said quietly. "Or I meant to. I called dad instead. Every evening for so long I've called him, I didn't think twice about it. I got annoyed when he didn't pick up until I realized—"
I did not know how Edward was capable of talking about his dad so coherently.
"And then, on Monday, I, I did it again. I really don't know what the fuck came over me those first evenings, I was just so used to—" Edward's chest expanded against mine. "What I'm saying is, I'm sorry I didn't call you. I meant to."
"S'okay, baby." I kissed his collar bone. "I'm sorry I don't know how to better support you. I've been so useless. I love you. I hate not to be able to help you."
"Feather-heart." Edward's tone was soft but scolding. "What're you talking about? You've been amazing."
"I've done nothing. You've been at Jasper's and gramps's and even back at your double-wide but never here. I'm sorry if I— I know that I don't know how to support you but if I did something to keep you away I'm sorry. I'm sorry."
"No! No. Baby," Edward whispered, squeezing me tight. "I knew that if I spent my nights with you, I wouldn't be able to function properly. You're the only person I'm comfortable," Edward lowered his voice, shifting, "crying around, and I didn't want to, I didn't trust myself not to—"
The compliment he so casually paid me made me feel like growing wings. Bittersweet, sad wings, but wings nonetheless. For Edward to trust me with his pain was the most precious thing in the world.
Edward played with my hair.
"My dad got into college on a football scholarship after he returned from the army," he continued as if we'd left off discussing the topic. "Lions at the University of North Alabama. He dropped out halfway through his second year, never explained why, though it's obvious in hindsight. Did you know my mom was eight years older than my dad?"
"No."
"She was thirty and thought he was too young for her. Refused to date him, but dad got his act together and… I wish you'd met them, together."
"Me, too."
"You wouldn't have recognized them. Dad doted on her. I was wildly embarrassed by their lovey-doveyness as a kid, but now, I'd give anything, anything—"
Edward stopped talking. I kissed his forearm.
"He was so proud of you."
"You don't have to say that," he argued. "He always wanted me to be more into sports. Playing it, watching it, discussing it. Dropping out was his biggest regret, and we never met eye-to-eye with my hobbies. The more pressure I felt from him, the more I refused to participate in any team sports, and mom had to mediate a few impressive shouting matches. Dad had some army ways beaten into him, and sometimes he wanted me to just… not question what he wanted for me."
"That's must've been rough." I scratched his hair. "But he was proud of you."
"Bella—"
"He told me you'd lead the first mission to Mars one day. He was so proud. I wish you'd heard him."
Edward froze. "He did not say that."
"I promise he did. Travis is my witness."
"No," Edward refused in a hoarse voice. "When?"
"That night—just before I entered your room."
"He couldn't have."
"He did," I argued gently. "He was worried by how much you always rely on yourself. He asked me to take care of you. He loved you so much, Edward. He did."
Edward's fingers squeezed into my muscles as he clutched me tight, inhaling sharply against my skin before he began to shake against me. I swallowed my tears as he sobbed so quietly only his unsteady breaths and trembling revealed his tears. I kissed his neck, listening to the gentle tapping of rain on my windows, wishing I was as good at consoling him as he was at consoling me.
Time passed. I stroked his back, saying and asking nothing until Edward took a few deeper breaths.
"He often swore he wanted to get clean," he said with a rough edge still in his voice. "I don't know if all addicts feel that way, or if he just knew what I wanted to hear. I stopped believing him a long time ago, but this time, I thought, what if. What if—"
Edward snuggled his nose into my hair.
"Do you want to hear something awful?" he asked.
"Tell me."
"A part of me is relieved, Bella. Relieved," he whispered, sounding horrified. "And I feel so guilty about it. I feel like I've been grieving him since he, since he started using. It's like, my dad was sometimes in there somewhere but mostly I was there to keep the drugs from killing the man inside. So many times when I wasn't sure where he was when I called him, I said goodbye to him, dreading what he was up to and with whom. Dreading the call in the morning telling me he'd overdosed. And yet, with all that time I've been scared of what's now happened… a part of me is relieved. Maybe I am a sociopath."
"You are not a sociopath, baby. You're human."
Edward let out a sharp breath, hesitating. "I don't think I ever told you, but— I was jealous of you when it turned out that Garrett wanted to stay in your life. Not because he's famous, but, you have three parents, three, fighting to be there for you, actively compromising with each other, for you. Meanwhile, my gran-gran's dead, my mom's dead, my aunt's an alcoholic whose kid I took care of, my dad—" Edward swallowed.
"I'm so sorry. Do you hate me?"
He huffed a laugh. "Of course not."
"You can have both—all—my parents, baby. I'm too close to them, anyway. They're thrilled to help you and guide you and be there for you."
"Only because I'm with you."
"No. You'd better believe none of them would lift a finger if you were an abusive alcoholic or something equally awful. They help you because you're amazing, and you've been dealt a shit hand in life, or— is there an equivalent for chess?"
I could hear the amusement creep into his voice. "The Barnes Opening."
"Yes. That. And yet you're incredible. You have an insanely bright future ahead of you."
Edward adjusted me against him and pulled the blanket higher on top of us, and I melted when he whispered the sweetest thanks in my ear. But just when I thought his hands were traveling to a wholly different territory, Edward brushed his lips against my temple and asked,
"Did you tell your parents about your panic attack?"
Ashamed, I lowered my voice. "No."
"Why not?"
Because Edward had enough going on without my stupid brain deciding to take attention away from him.
On Thursday, Edward had accompanied me to my lawyer on the thirty first floor in downtown Atlanta. I'd counted myself lucky for not having any after-effects of the kidnapping while Edward struggled with nightmares, but I'd rejoiced too early. Edward and I got into an elevator with three other people, one of whom began to gush about Underground Memories, but her words faded into the distance. My ears began ringing. Cold sweat covered my skin. The mirrored walls closed in, choking me. My rapidly beating heart echoed through the ringing in my ears, and I couldn't breathe. I wanted out. I needed out. I needed to escape the confined—
Recognizing that I was not okay but not knowing what to do, Edward wrapped me into the warmest, tightest hug, whispering words in my ear that I couldn't comprehend. He felt safe and firm and reassuring. Strangely, his death-grip around me helped, and I made it to the thirty first floor clammy and terrified but otherwise okay.
I made him promise not to tell my parents (waiting for us at the lawyer), but I should've known he wouldn't agree to keep it secret for long.
It was just so stupid. I couldn't wrap my head around something as stupid as becoming claustrophobic after being locked in a trunk for no more than an hour. I got out. I got out myself, without help. I was okay.
But no, my body decided that elevators were a hazard now. How stupid.
"I'll tell them tomorrow," I told Edward.
"Can I be there when you do?"
"Why, are you scared that I won't tell them?"
"Maybe," he replied without sounding smug at all. Quietly, he added, "Baby, you might also need therapy."
"No. I'm okay. I am. I haven't gone through anything close to what you have—"
"You went from being a virtually unknown high school student to breaking all the follower count records on social media. People are thirsty for content about you. They write articles about you if you so much as dare to breathe different. You were kidnapped—"
"But you deserve help so much more—"
"Deserve?" Edward scoffed a laugh. "You really want to make this argument easy for me, huh?"
I hid my face in his neck. "It's just that… that, whatever happened in the elevator, it was just my body being stupid. It wasn't conscious, so—"
"If panic attacks were a conscious choice nobody would have them," he replied. "And everything is stupid. Heat death of the universe, remember?"
I smiled.
Edward's voice got impossibly gentle. "Why are you so against therapy for yourself when you're clearly so supportive about me having it?"
I didn't even understand my own resistance until it struck me: I wanted to be that self-made child prodigy who didn't need training for PR, for voice acting, or… therapy. I wanted to be the girl who toughed it out, not because of any old-people stigma around therapy but because I wanted to do it all on my own. (Which was stupid, of course, given how much credit my parents deserved for my life and career.)
Look at me, accusing everyone else of having too much pride and being the proudest of them all.
I sighed and kissed Edward's shoulder. "Okay. I'll do it."
Edward paused. "Really? Just like that?"
"Just like that."
"But, how? Why? What changed?"
"Because sometimes… sometimes I think I want everyone to be so in awe of how adult I am that I let my pride dictate what I do and do not need."
"That sounds like something you'd discover at your therapist."
"Well, it looks like I've made a lot of progress during my first session. How much do you charge, sir?"
Edward scoff-laughed against my neck. "If that's how you want to play it then your dad should be charging me more than what's going to my therapist."
Thrilled by how much dad was bonding Edward, I kissed his ear. "He'll be so touched to hear that."
Edward pressed a trail of feather-light kisses against against my cheek and temple before he hesitated. His tone got rueful. "You think they'll make us do couple's therapy?"
I grinned. "Can you imagine the headlines? 'The sixteen-year-old Bahati and her boyfriend Edward have such a messed-up relationship they need couple's therapy after being together for, what, a month?'"
"Two months since our first kiss," Edward corrected. "But the joke would be on them because they can laugh at us now, but, in seventy years, they'll be on their seventh divorce while I'm taking you out on picnics when I'm blind as a bat, all of my hair has relocated to my balls, and you're—"
"Careful."
"—more beautiful than ever," Edward finished, laughing.
My body tingled with affection. "Good save. Are you smart or something?"
Edward slid his hand up and down my side before he pushed me on my back and rested his elbows on either side of my face. Adoring his naked weight on me, I wrapped my legs around him. He groaned. A flurry of butterflies released in my stomach when he grazed his fingertips across my temples, and I could see the gentle smile on his lips even in the darkness. He kissed me. I felt alight.
So maybe neither of us were quite okay, and maybe I was naïve to believe him when he spoke about our future, but he was here now, all mine, and I chose to believe we'd make it through the thick of it, together. Just like he said.
…
A/N: Awh, look at them. If I was a proper editor I'd whack myself over the head and make myself change the order of events or the mood of this chapter because it reads like a story ending, but… nah. This is fanfic. I'll write another seventy chapters with this mood if I want to.
(Kidding, kidding.)
As you can tell, we are actually nearing the end now. It hurts, but we have roughly 2-5 chapters left before the epilogue. (Cue sad violins.) Really, though. They are so dear to me (and I'm amazed by how dear they are to you, too! thank you 3). I don't know how to stop writing them.
Thank you all for being here with me. It means a lot 333