Don't Let Me Fall

Chapter 6

For the past three weeks, I haven't spoken to him; nor has he attempted conversation with me. The way he avoids me makes me feel like fire - if he comes close, he'll get burned. I haven't even caught him looking at me. His eyes dart to the floor or the ceiling or one of the guys whenever I enter a room, and when we all go out on another of Caleb's spur-of-the-moment adventures, he's always two people ahead of me. If anything, I'm the one paying attention to him. Which is definitely not good. Maybe I feel guilty for what I said - or rather screamed -  at him. 

Caden doesn't seem like the type of guy to get that easily offended, though...

The only way I can tell he still even knows I exist is the containers of leftovers in the fridge. Another appears every night; I'm beginning to wonder whether they're even leftovers. Those men eat like pigs. I make a point to leave his containers untouched, though. After his remark three weeks ago, my pride makes it impossible for me to so much as lift the lid. But each night there's a new meal, and each morning when he opens the fridge to find the container full, a frown appears on his face.

Whether the guys notice anything, I don't know. They all act normal, but I get the feeling they've twigged something's up.  I mean, it's not like it's not obvious. I don't talk to him. I don't look at him. We're both acting like fucking children but I sure as hell am not being the one to make amends.

It's actually been kind of nice, in some ways. Without Caden's stupid snarky comments, I've been able to actually get to know the people I'm living with. A smile spreads across my  face as I remind myself of the time that Caleb pushed Fins onto this massive rock with a big, black spider on it. He screamed in a note I'm pretty sure Ariana Grande couldn't reach before sprinting away.

And then there was the time JJ and Blake started a fight about which on of them Emma Watson would date when they walked in on me watching Beauty and the Beast. When Caleb joined in, all three of them started brawling on the floor, and Caden ended up storming in and literally yanking them apart. 

These men have become my brothers in many ways; I adore them more than I thought I could. They're all a bunch of goofs, really. 

Apart from Caden. Caden is just....Caden.

As the white light of my laptop illuminates my face, I cringe at the harsh brightness before opening skype. The smiling profile picture of Doctor Marshall greets me, and I try to prepare myself before calling her. Each week, every Friday, I've called her. And each Friday ends in tears. It took a lot for the doctor to agree to me moving here - some of the terms being I have to call her each week as well as keeping a log. 

Blowing out a deep breath, I click on her name and wait for the beeping to end.

I'm met with her familiar 'hello'.

"Hey," I say my same familiar phrase before telling her I'm fine. 

And then she gives me that same familiar look, before asking me to try again.

                                                                                              *

Two hours later, I'm curled on my bed with my log lying open in front of me. Tears spill down my face, and snot escapes my nose in a disgusting trail. My eyes hurt from the salt, and my head feels like it's been bashed against a door. What a way to spend a Friday evening.

I can't even bare to touch the book before me without my stomach twisting. The doctor's words circle my mind in a never ending loop. "You're not getting better. You're getting worse." 

All the connotations of that one word - worse - enter my head. Worse is never good. Worse only means bad. 

As I close my eyes, my bedroom door swings open. I don't bother to look at who it is before I tell them to piss off. I'm pretty sure I already know who it is, anyway. He always comes in at the worst possible moments. I just hope he leaves.

Of course he doesn't. I scrunch my eyes tighter as I hear his footsteps growing closer and closer. Then it goes silent. 

"What is this?" Caden asks me, a quietness in his voice that twists my stomach into a tight knot. 

Shit. Shit. I forgot that that was still there. Leaping out of my position, I lunge for what I know is in his hands. Fucking nosey idiot. His calloused hand grips my wrist before I can reach the notebook, and he pulls it father out of my reach. Fear of him reading the words on the pages makes me fight against him; despite how bad I know I look, I can't find it in me to care. 

As I struggle in vain, he turns his head towards the paper, his eyes darting across each unbearable page. I begin to hit him, punching with what little strength I have. "Stop," his voice comes out as a whisper at first, but by the second time he repeats the word, he's shouting, "Stop. Stop!"

His grey eyes are latching onto mine now, clear understanding in them. Slowly, his hand falls from my wrist, and he places the notebook down on the bed. But it doesn't matter anymore. He already knows what's in it. 

"You fucking idiot." I whisper the words into the air between us before walking out of the room.