Close Enough

I wake up with anxiety in the pit of my stomach and immediately check my phone. Ash was online at 5 AM. Just like I suspected since our brief conversation yesterday, he’s had another one of those days — or, rather, nights.

I type a short message, just one sentence: “I’m coming over.” He sees it and starts typing, but I don’t wait for a reply. I already know what he’s going to say, and he already knows I won’t agree. We might as well skip the arguing. Or at least delay it until I actually see him.

It’s raining, but I don’t bother to take an umbrella, simply pulling the hood of my waterproof coat over my head instead. The bus is already gone, and it’s faster to go by foot than to wait for the next one. It takes me about half an hour to get there, but I show up at his doorstep at last and ring the bell.

The door opens just slightly, barely enough for Ash to peek at me from behind it.

“Maddie? Why did you come? I texted that you didn’t have to.”

“I didn’t see the text,” I answer truthfully.

“But you did see it coming.” I have nothing to say to that.

“Ash, come on. Let me in.” I do not just mean through the door. He hesitates, so I try to push.

“You don’t want me to stand here all alone in the rain, do you? You know how easily I get sick.”

“Then you should have gotten sick of me long ago,” he answers.

“That’s not what I meant, and you know it.” He lets out a long sigh and finally opens the door. I walk through it and take my jacket off. By the time I hang it up to dry, Ash is already in the kitchen. I know he’s making hot cocoa for me even before the sweet smell reaches me.

We don’t talk as I wait for him to finish preparing the drink.

“You won’t make one for yourself?” I ask as I see him set one cup on the table. He shakes his head wordlessly.

“Alright…” I try to look into his eyes, but he turns away. He’s wearing a long-sleeved jacket despite how warm his apartment is. I understand what that means, but I know better by now than to address it directly.

“Ash…” I start, sounding a bit too hesitant for my liking. “You know you can talk to me, right?”

“About what?” He asks casually, and it takes all the patience I have not to roll my eyes.

“About everything,” I say softly instead. “Anything that’s bothering you.”

“Nothing is bothering me,” he lies. “I’m okay.”

“Really?” I give him a skeptical look that he’s all too familiar with by now.

“Really.” He answers irritably. “Don’t you have some studies to catch up on? You shouldn’t be wasting your time here.” I clench my jaw and exhale through my nose, mentally counting to five before answering.

“Time spent with you is never wasted in my books,” I say, silently scolding myself for the note of annoyance that slips through in my voice.

“I will never understand why you insist on saying that,” he answers. I take a sip of my cocoa to prevent myself from replying too quickly.

“Never say never,” I shrug with a smile. “Maybe I can make you see it someday.”

“It’s not your responsibility to make me see anything. And I wish you would just… Stop trying.” I blink at him.

“You wish I would stop trying? Ash, what are you saying?”

“I’m saying you should back off already!” He raises his voice, and I can’t help but flinch. “Can’t you see that you will never be able to change me?!”

“I’m not trying to change you…” I manage to argue in a shaky voice.

“Sure you’re not!” His tone is dripping with sarcasm that almost feels like mockery. “Because you love me just the way I am, with all of my issues and everything… Is that what your psychology books recommend that you say to me?!”

“It’s not from the books, it’s just the truth…” I whisper, accidentally spilling some of the cocoa as I set the cup back on the table. Ash laughs bitterly at that.

“Right, and I’m supposed to pretend that I believe that, because if I don’t, you will act all sad about it, and I will feel even shittier than I already do!” He stands up.

“Ash, wait…” He stares at me, waiting for me to say something, but I don’t trust my voice not to break if I attempt to speak. And the words don’t come anyway.

“Just go home,” he mumbles under his breath. “Get out of here before I say something I can’t take back.”

“No,” I shake my head. “I’m… Not done drinking my cocoa yet.”

“Then drink it quickly.”

I pick up the cup with shaking hands and take another small sip. My mind is reeling, trying to come up with something, anything… But a part of me is starting to believe that he might be right. Maybe there’s really nothing I can do when he gets like this. And perhaps I’m just hurting us both by trying. Tears well up in my eyes, and I wipe them quickly, but not quickly enough. He notices. And his expression crumbles when he does. He slowly sits back down and reaches a hand towards my face, but stops just shy of touching me.

“You’re crying… And this is all my fault. I knew this would happen. That’s why I didn’t want to talk to anyone today, especially not to you.” That stings more than I’d like to admit.

“But, Ash… Aren’t we supposed to be there for each other?”

“You knew about my issues before we got together,” he retorts. “You knew that there are times when I just… Can’t act right around other people. You knew that’s why I have to isolate myself on bad days. That’s what you signed up for.”

“No,” I deny. “This isn’t what I signed up for. I thought you would let me help you.”

“You can’t help me,” he sighs. “Nobody can. Not when it gets this bad.” I struggle to hold back a fresh wave of tears as he says that. It hurts, because it’s true, no matter how much I wish I could keep denying it.

“Then… Can I just hug you?” He averts his gaze guiltily when he hears my hopeful request.

“I don’t want to be touched right now.” I stare down at my cup, trying in vain to will myself into drinking what’s left of the now-cold drink.

“Okay… Then at least let me make some cocoa for you, too.”

I stand up and walk towards the stove without waiting for an answer, and he doesn’t stop me. When the drink is ready, I choose his favorite cup to pour it into and add some marshmallows on top, just like he did for me.

“Thank you,” he whispers as I put it in front of him. “And… I’m sorry.” I nod, knowing that I’d be lying if I said it was okay. It isn’t, and we both know it. But neither of us can do anything about it. I finally pick up my own cup, but stop right before it would touch my lips.

“I will see you tomorrow,” I say, glancing at Ash. He nods, but that isn’t enough for me, so I reiterate. “Promise me that I will see you tomorrow.” For a few seconds, there is silence. Until, at last, I hear his quiet voice again.

“I promise.” I take the last sip and set the empty cup on the table.

“I spilled some of it. Let me clean the mess I made.”

“You don’t have to,” he tries to reply, but I’m already reaching for the paper towels, hoping he doesn’t notice how deliberately slow my movements are.

When I go to the corridor at long last, Ash follows me.

“You didn’t bring an umbrella,” he notices. “You can take mine. It’s still raining out there.”

“I have a waterproof jacket. I’ll be fine,” I say as I’m putting it on. My hand lingers on the door handle. I expect Ash to rush me, but he doesn’t.

“This feels wrong,” I admit quietly, half-hoping he won’t hear me. He sighs, so I know he did. “Leaving you right now feels wrong,” I clarify, though it feels unnecessary. “But I’m afraid to only make things by staying.”

“You won’t. But I will. You are not the one to blame for any of this. And you shouldn’t have to bear the consequences of my problems.”

“It’s not about what I have to do,” I reply as I turn back to him. “It’s about what I want to do. I want to be here for you, in any way I can… But you won’t let me.”

“Why would you want that? Out of pity?”

“No. Out of care.” I meet his gaze, daring him to accuse me of lying while looking me in the eyes.

“You shouldn’t care so much about someone like me. It will only bring you pain. I have warned you about that.”

“But you were wrong,” I take a step towards him. “Caring about you brought me more happiness than pain, and those bad days of yours can’t change that. I don’t want to only be there for the good times. That feels shallow and wrong, like I’m using you. I want to know you, all of you. Including the things you don’t like about yourself. And you can’t change what I feel just by saying I shouldn’t feel it…” He seems to falter a bit, listening to my short monologue without a hint of protest. But I know better than to think I got through to him.

“You already saw it. My anger, my… Ugly side.”

“But I didn’t see what’s beneath the anger. You never showed me.”

“And what makes you think there’s something beneath my anger?” He crosses his arms defensively.

“Because there’s always something beneath mine,” I confess.

“I have never seen you angry… At least, not at me.”

I pause, suddenly feeling like a hypocrite. Here I am, demanding he stops hiding his feelings from me, while I’m doing the same, just in the opposite way.

“I don’t want to make you feel worse by showing my anger,” I say, looking down at my feet. “So I guess I’m hiding things about myself from you, too.”

“You don’t have to. I deserve to hear it.”

“I don’t even know how to express it,” I continue, the words spilling out of me without my control. “I have been taught my whole life that women shouldn’t be forceful or aggressive if they want to be loved. And I… I don’t want you to stop loving me.” I have to bite my lip to hold back my tears for the third time today.

“Well, I have been taught the opposite about how men should behave,” he scoffs. “I would rather just get angry at you and make you leave than let you see me so… Weak.”

“Weak?!” My head snaps up to look at him. “You think I would find you weak if you showed your feelings to me more?”

“Wouldn’t you?” He asks, sounding so unsure that it breaks my heart.

“Of course not. I would only think that you trust me… And trust takes courage. There’s nothing weak about it.” He takes a deep breath, and I see him trying to process my words, like what I said is a foreign concept to him.

“I wouldn’t even know where to begin,” he admits with a hint of shame. “When I’m alone, I can just… Cry. But I can’t do that in front of someone else. Not even in front of you. It’s not that I don’t trust you, it’s just… I’m physically unable to do it. I don’t know how to explain it.”

“You don’t have to explain,” I shake my head. “If you don’t want me to see you… Then can I just stay in another room?”

“You could still hear me then.” He mumbles in a half-hearted protest.

“I can use my earbuds.”

“Are you sure your music is loud enough?” He scoffs.

“Actually… I thought you could send me your angry metal playlist. You know, the one you listen to when you’re mad.”

He raises his eyebrows.

“I thought you didn’t enjoy that kind of music.”

“Maybe that was because I believed I wasn’t supposed to enjoy it,” I shrug. “But this time, I’ll give it an honest try.”

He manages a crooked smile at that.

“Alright, then… You can stay.” He looks away before hesitantly adding a quiet “Thank you.”

I smile at him in return. He takes his cup of cocoa and goes to his room, and I put my earbuds in, as promised. I play a racing game on my phone as I listen to the music he sent me, and it sounds much better to me than it did last time I heard it. Maybe someday I can scream my frustrations to him, and he can cry in my arms. But for now, this is close enough for us.