Page 85 of Perfect Guy
“Canaan, stop thanking me.” I take a bite of my glazed donut.
He nods, finishing off the cinnamon roll. “I’m gonna go wash my hand.” He wiggles his fingers.
I watch him stand. His movements are slow and careful. He wobbles toward the bathroom while I finish my donut. I wash my own hands in the kitchen when I go throw the box away.
When Canaan returns, he sits on the couch and closes his eyes.
“Are you tired?” I whisper.
“Yeah. My body feels kinda heavy, and my eyes are bothering me.” He folds his good arm across his face.
“Can I sit with you?”
“Yeah.”
I walk toward the sofa, sitting on his right side and cuddling close while still being careful. I take a deep breath, feeling a sense of peace. We’ve grown distant in the past few days. I try not to think too much about it, not wanting to put my energy into it, but it’s impossible not to notice.
“Talk to me.” I glance up at Canaan.
He peeks one eye open, confusion written on his face. Instead of wrapping his arm around me, it’s draped on the back of the couch. Maybe this is my sign. I need to get a clue that he’s over me, over us.
“About?”
“How you’re feeling. What’s going through your mind. I don’t know…” We never discussed the way I left the other day. Maybe that’s what’s sitting between us.
“I’m okay. Like I’ve told everyone, I’m taking it a day at a time. I’m angry, but it’s my own fault.”
“I’m not everyone else.” The words are out before I can process them. Shaking my head, I sit up.
“I didn’t think I was.” I attempt to mend my outburst.
Scrubbing my face, I look away from him. I refuse for him to see how much this hurts me. It’s not that he’s injured; it’s the distance he’s putting between us. It’s the fact that he seems like he doesn’t need me the way I need him. The indifference is poison slowly dripping into my veins, killing me little by little.
I wouldn’t have survived his death. I’m wondering if the tables were turned if he’d bother.
That’s a harsh reality to accept. Everything we lived… I know I didn’t make that up. It wasn’t my imagination. Canaan made promises. He was invested. Could he walk away from me this easily? Because I sure as hell can’t, which is why I continue to show up here each day. I don’t want him to think I’m giving up on him. He should know I love him regardless.
“Should I go? Do you want me to leave?” I stare at him.
“I’m tired.”
“That’s not a fucking response to what I asked.” I regret my harsh tone, but it’s too late.
Canaan flinches and looks at me. “Maybe you should go,” his jaw tightens.
I don’t want to leave this way, but it seems we’ve come to a point where we’re standing on opposite sides with a river of quicksand keeping us from reaching one another. How much more do I put myself out there, show him what he means to me if he’s just indifferent?
I look away, masking my hurt. I don’t bother to put the cards away. I leave them scattered on the coffee table and stand, grabbing my purse from the kitchen.
“Bye, Canaan.”
He doesn’t bother to respond. I look over at him, and his head is tilted back with his eyes closed once again. I snort in disbelief.
I don’t bother giving my broken heart the attention it’s seeking. I drive home in numbness. When I walk into the house, my mom only has to glance at me before she wraps me in her arms.
“Sweetie…” She whispers while she runs a hand across my back.
I grip on to her, finally letting it all out. I cry into her shoulder, trying to figure out where we went wrong. At what point did Canaan stop caring about me? When did I become a nuisance to him?