Breaking The Ice [bxb]

Chapter Twenty-Seven (pt. 2) [Liam]

It's hard to tell how much time goes by until Eli calms down again. But I don't move until his shoulders stop shaking and his chest stops heaving.

I can feel the dampness on my shirt's shoulder and hear the wet sounds of his breathing as he starts to cool down. My hand draws a soothing line down his back and up again.

"I don't want you to ignore me," Eli mumbles into my shoulder, sniffing.

I pull away a little to look at him. "You were the one who started ignoring me," I speak softly.

"I know." He sniffs.

I nod.

I know what I want to say to him next, but I have to think very carefully about it. I feel like someone who found an abandoned, hurt cat on the streets. I want to help, but I know if I move too brusquely or too soon — any false step at all — and he'll either bolt or attack.

"Do you think you want to talk now?" I offer gently.

"Do I have to?" He doesn't look at me as he settles back against the wall, letting his head lean back.

My guess is whatever he had that made him come here in the first place has been cleared out of his system by his little outburst. He's sobering up and many things can be resurging. A headache, shame, regret, self-consciousness at all his admissions.

I can see that I have to take a different approach tonight than what I've normally let myself get away with. I can't ignore what he's just told me and let him distract me or deviate the topic and run. I can't force Eli to confide in me any more than he already did, but after everything he said he also can't expect me to be without reaction.

"You're the one who came here," I say. "I figured you'd want to talk."

"I do," he says, finally looking at me. "And I don't."

I nod back, because I think I can understand that.

"Can I ask how you feel right now?" I try.

"Like shit."

"How did you feel before drinking yourself stupid tonight?"

He doesn't answer right away. "Like someone rubbed novacaine on my brain."

I give it a minute, not because I need to think about what to say next, but because I want to give him time.

"Have you been sleeping well?" I murmur softly.

"No."

"Have you been eating?"

"I need to eat to play hockey."

I tilt my head. "How does hockey feel?" I try to go for gentle curiosity in my tone.

He gives me a shrug, then a sniff. "Easy. Familiar. Distracting."

"Have you told anyone about these symptoms — about the way you're feeling?"

Eli shakes his head.

"Have you maybe tried googling any of these things you're feeling?"

He shakes his head again.

I take a cautious breath in, bracing myself for the reaction I might get to my next question as I exhale. "Have you ever googled depression?"

Eli looks up from the point on the floor where his eyes have fallen to and meets my gaze. I don't want him to shut down in any way, so before I even have time to get too caught up on that look in his eyes, I keep talking.

"My mom had post-partum after Leah. I was really young at the time, but she tells me about it. She still sees a therapist every once in a while to help with anxiety and other stuff. I know post-partum is different from other types of depression, but she says she had similar symptoms."