Me, Myself, and I

i hate surprises

Do you remember if I asked Alex to meet me for dinner? I remember making no such promise, but to this day he insists that is precisely why he used the spare key under the rock next to our stoop and let himself into the house. Because he'd been told that was where he could find the key, and that he was welcome to use it any time. Maybe my dad had spoken on my behalf. I suppose it doesn't really matter.

He set the Stacks to-go box on the kitchen table and stared at the opened safe. The neat stack of papers, only a few new creases. My concerns should have been on the thoughts flying through Alex's mind, the questions, the images, the weaponry of words.

All I could do was stare at the piece of paper Kyle had slyly slid back into his jeans pocket. Thought he was smart, did he? What possibly could've triggered him to steal someone's records? They couldn't be Ben's. He had no reason to hide that from me. Ben told him everything, used to tell me everything. Someone else's name was on that sheet. I would find out whose it was.

Alex shook his head at the box and started back towards the door.

"Wait!"

My sprint halted at the door, grabbing the cool metal of the handle before it could catch the hinge. The file. Alex. The letter in Kyle's pocket. Alex out the door. I glared back at Kyle. "Don't move. We're not done yet."

The sky had darkened a considerable amount, some pink streaks behind the trees. Alex was already steps away from his Audi, shaking his head as he marched. I winced as I sprinted barefoot across the heated gravel, grabbed for his sleeve. The rocks pinched against my toes. "Alex just hold on and let me explain—"

He stopped, back hunched, stayed facing the metal of his car. "I thought you were dropping this."

This. What was this? Ben? My suspicions about Kyle? My arm drooped to my side, back on the defensive. "I never said that."

"What are you two even doing?"

I explained in hasty, defensive terms. I wanted to see Ben; Kyle promised me such an event would occur as long as I let him look through a few of Dad's files. He was just looking for more information about Ben. I didn't believe that part, but I looked paranoid enough as it was.

"Why didn't you talk to me first?"

I shook my head. "I don't have to ask you permission."

"No, but if you would've told me what was going through your head this morning, I could have told you what a stupid idea this is."

"I tried, okay? You did nothing but shut me down. That's...all you ever do."

He laughed. "You just made a deal with a guy you barely know to go dig through legal records on the off chance that he might take you to Ben's hospital room a few days before everybody else says it's okay. It was a bad idea. If you really couldn't tell me about it, it's not a me problem. It's because a bad idea is a bad idea, and you didn't want to hear it. God forbid somebody tell you that you're wrong."

It would be a lot easier to argue with him if he could bother to make less sense every now and then. "Well...I just...I didn't know what else to do."

He'd closed the distance to his car, rubbing his temple as he faced me. "You talk to the people who care about you. You listen to the people who care about you. That's what you do."

"So you could just tell me that I'm crazy?"

He held my shoulders in his palms. "This isn't about who you are. It's about what you do to me. You don't treat me like I'm on your team, Julia. You act like I'm just some useless, soulless entourage. I try to support you. I want to be able to help you and be there for you. But you don't let me. And I can't keep running this race blind."

He opened the driver's door, tapping the button on his remote start. The engine purred. My blood rushed to my head. "If you hate me so much, then why are you here?"

"I don't hate you, Julia," he whispered. "I..." His words fell off. My eyes latched to his, and only then did I notice that the circles beneath them were a few shades darker than they'd been a few days ago. "You just don't think things through. And you act like I'm supposed to be some mind reader. Like I'm supposed to know exactly what you're thinking and it's my fault if I can't solve the puzzle."

"I never asked you to figure out my head."

He closed his eyes. "Just tell me what you're thinking right now."

What I was thinking? Easy enough. My head felt like a boiling pot of water on a gas powered stovetop. But I couldn't place that image with spoken word. I wiped my eyes dry and made myself swallow.

"I don't know what I'm thinking, Alex. I'm sorry. I'd tell you if I did."

He bit his lip. "Well, I'm thinking that..." He shook his head. "I love you. That I want what's best for you. And I can't exactly tell what you think of me."

"What?"

"Exactly." He held the rim of his door. "I think we need some time apart." I'd gone completely mute. "Let's just...let things settle."

"Alex..."

"Go. Figure out what you really want. What's important. I'm not going to be sitting around waiting while you self destruct. It hurts too much. I love you too much."

He started his engine, letting his door slowly click shut. The words I wanted to say came too late, not until after he left me standing in my driveway with my knees about to buckle over my bare feet. My head cleared of the boiling water. Love me? He'd finished telling me all the things I'd done to deteriorate him. Then he told me he loved me? What was I supposed to do, say it back? It wasn't exactly a great declaration. What did he love about me anyway? He'd given no evidence for something so absurd.

Still, my eyes were watering, because that boiling water had to go somewhere. I wiped them with my sleeve, building a dam.

I love you. Those words had become a declaration of war at this point.