"Don't say that," I snapped, aghast, and propped myself up on my forearm.
"Never mind, forget I said anything," John pleaded flatly and rubbed his hand over his face.
"I'll forget you said that as soon as you forget you ever thought that."
We had been lying on my bed that weekday night, cuddled up together in comfortable silence until John had dropped that bombshell.
'Sometimes I think about how much easier life would be if I dropped out of college.'
I knew I was starting to hyperventilate, and perhaps I was overreacting, but I was sure it was prompted by John underreacting.
"I didn't mean it, I was dreaming out loud."
"Are you saying that's your dream? John!"
He knew how important education was to me, and he knew I had plans to go to grad school after next year. I didn't need him to enroll there, too, and we hadn't talked about the future, but—. The very fabric of this conversation induced powerful anxiety in me.
"I don't know what I'm thinking! Maybe that it would give me some kind of purpose in my life, I don't fucking know."
"Purpose?" I asked confusedly.
I could see desperation oozing from every pore of his being. A minute ago I had wanted him to make sense of his uttering for me. Now I discovered he couldn't make sense of it for himself. But how could I help if I couldn't figure out what was wrong? He sat up and stared straight ahead.
"Direction, meaning, purpose, call it what you want. Everyone here seems to have it. They know what they want to do and most even know how to get there. You want to be a child psychologist, that's amazing. But what am I looking to do with my life? I have no clue, not the slightest. Instead, I can list a thousand jobs I don't ever want to do."
It was now my turn to sit up. I took deep, even breaths in an attempt to slow my elevated heart rate and restrain my overwrought voice.
"You don't have to know right now. There's a myriad of things you can do with econ."
He turned his head toward the window, away from me.
"I hate econ. But I'm fucking lost on what else I would do. I'm not a high achiever like you and everyone else here. I'm not driven. I don't belong here."
"John," I pleaded and tried to stabilize my voice.
This conversation couldn't have been further from being about myself or my values. It was about John, and he needed me, so I had to pack up my ego, pronto. I placed my hand on the back of his neck, my fingertips running along his hairline. His head dropped to hang low. He talked a little more freely when he wasn't looking at me.
"I'm so scared all the time. Of the distant future, and of the near future, too. What if I fail? What if I don't graduate? Or, what if I do? What's next? You have no idea how draining it is to question yourself like this every day."
He was on a rant now, and I could do nothing but stare at him with my mouth agape while he poured out his heart bit by excruciating bit, feelings that he had been holding back for goodness knows how long.
"I love soccer because I don't have to act. I just play, and we win and lose as a team. If I could play professionally, I would, but I can't. Off the field—I'm terrified. That's why I didn't want you to tutor me anymore as we got closer. Grace, I cannot take one more person looking at me the way I look at myself, especially not you. Because if you don't think I'm worth your time, how could anyone?"
Tears welled up in my eyes. The back of my throat burned with a lump in it. How could he ever think he wasn't worth it? He was the best thing that happened to me this year. If anything, I had wondered why he was giving me the time of day.
"So yes, dreaming about dropping out is not only idiotic, but also so fucked up because I won't suddenly find that purpose in a box of cereal. I'm a mess, which is precisely why I didn't tell you any of this. You get that look in your eye like I'm the greatest person to walk the face of this earth since Abe Lincoln or whoever. And I don't want you to lose that. I don't want to lose that."
His pained expression was reflected not only in his grimace, but in the way his body had sunk into itself. He rubbed his palms along his face and his eyes were glazed with unshed tears.
A hot tear was running down my own cheek that I quickly wiped away. I stayed quiet for an eternity. When I finally had what I hoped were the right words, I knelt down in front of him and placed my hands on his knees, forcing him to look at me. My voice quivered, but I mustered up every bit of determination I had left in me.
"John. That's not anything like how I see you. I look at the same person you see when you look in the mirror, and have nothing but affection for him. So you're not perfect, but who is? You are always there, even when I sometimes don't know that I need you yet. That incident at the party? I feel safe with you. I always get the sense that I'm the center of your attention and there's no place you'd rather be. What else? You respect me and accept my choices even when you don't agree, like that time I went to pick up Liam from the bar. You fought for us when I wouldn't and forgave me even after I had been a complete idiot and rejected you even though I knew you were right about us. You're worth it, John, and every day I tell myself not to screw up this relationship. I'm fucking lucky to have you and I'm not going anywhere."
Another tear spilled over my cheek and I wanted him to see it this time. To show him he didn't have to struggle alone. That it affected me. John released a breath he had been holding, let out a muffled sob and wiped his eyes with his balls of the thumb. Then he pulled me onto his lap and into an embrace so tight I didn't know where his body ended and mine began. He held on for dear life and I did my best to hold him back equally as forcefully. He buried his face in the crook of my neck and I could feel his hot tears on my bare skin and his thumping heart against my own chest. And at that moment, any doubt I might have had about him or us vanished into thin air.
YOU ARE READING
What I Should Have Done ✓
Romance|*| Ambassador-featured |*| 2022 Bootcamp Mentee |*| Grace Bellamy knows exactly how her junior year at a prestigious New England liberal arts college will go: good grades, an established social niche, and a clear vision for the future, all to stay...