How to be loved

56 - What a breakfast!

How to be loved

56 – What a breakfast!

Becky's POV

"Freen," I began, my voice barely above a whisper, "you have to know... I'm already seeing someone."

She blinked, her brows knitting together as a shadow of confusion crossed her face. But it was the flicker of hurt in her eyes that tightened a painful knot in my chest. "You're... seeing someone?" she asked, her voice barely audible, her hand—so warm and reassuring in mine—loosening as if I'd just said something unforgivable. Why does she look so... heartbroken? I thought, guilt and confusion twisting inside me.

"Yes, Freen," I replied softly, my heart sinking as I watched the guarded look on her face take over.

She pulled her hand back slowly, leaning into the chair as though the weight of my words had drained the strength from her. "Then... what are we even doing here?" she murmured, her voice laced with disbelief and a raw vulnerability that broke my heart. "I just... I just told you I wanted to be your girlfriend, Becky. I thought this was real, that you were serious about us." She bit her lip, frustration evident in the tension of her jaw. "Are you... are you playing with my heart?"

Oh no. My mind raced in a frenzy, grasping for words that would rewind the pain I'd inadvertently caused. "Freen, please, wait—" I began, but the misunderstanding only seemed to deepen, making her retreat even further.

"Do you realize what you just said?" she whispered, a controlled anguish trembling beneath her words, her voice low enough to keep the conversation private but sharp enough to pierce through me. "Why would you ask me to let you make it up to me, to let you have a second chance if you're already seeing someone? If you're already committed..."

The café around us faded into a blur. I felt myself teetering between disbelief and panic, replaying the words I'd let slip, seeing with dreadful clarity how they must have sounded to her. We'd been floating on this shared joy only a moment ago, and now—now it felt like it was slipping away. I closed my eyes, willing myself to make sense of this before it was too late. Then, finally, it clicked.

"Oh, God—no, Freen, wait," I blurted, a mixture of relief and desperation filling my voice as I leaned forward, reaching for her hand, desperate to bridge the sudden chasm between us. "It's not like that. I didn't mean... I'm not seeing anyone else romantically. Not at all."

She paused, her eyes still brimming with hurt but softening as a glimmer of hope flickered beneath the confusion. She didn't say anything, waiting, hanging on to the silence as if it would reveal the truth.

"What I meant," I continued, my heart pounding as I hurried to explain, "is that I'm seeing a psychologist."

Her expression softened completely, the initial confusion giving way to a warmth that seemed almost like relief. "A... psychologist?" she repeated, her voice gentle, blending curiosity and something tender that tugged at my heart.

"Yes," I murmured, my grip on her hand tightening, needing her touch to steady me. "I've been seeing a psychologist for a while now."

She let out a slow, deep breath, her shoulders finally relaxing as if the weight she'd been carrying quietly lifted. "I thought..." she whispered, her words tapering off as she let go of the sadness that had clouded her eyes. She looked at me with a raw, open vulnerability that felt both beautiful and painful, and it made my heart ache for her trust.

I leaned closer, holding her hand a little tighter, grounding us both in that simple, steadying touch. "No, Freen. I would never hurt you like that. There's only you. Always."

A faint smile began to tug at the corners of her lips, her expression softening as warmth replaced the hurt that had been there moments before. She patted the seat beside her, her voice quiet but hopeful. "Then come here," she said, her tone gentle, with a touch of pleading. "Please."