desertion

130

LYDIA

The living room is quiet except for the faint hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen and the soft rain pattering against the windows. The dim light from the lamp casts a warm glow over us as Miles and I sit on the couch, tangled together like we've always belonged this way. My knees are pulled up to my chest, his arm wrapped around them as he rests his hand gently against my leg. Our arms are interlocked, his thumb brushing absentmindedly against my wrist.

Neither of us has said a word in what feels like hours, but it doesn't feel awkward. It never does with Miles. The silence between us has always been this unspoken language, a way of saying everything without saying anything at all. I lean into him a little more, my cheek grazing his shoulder as I stare at the floor.

He doesn't push me to talk. He never does.

But tonight, it's like something in me has finally reached its breaking point. The thoughts swirling in my head, the feelings I've shoved down so deep-they're clawing their way to the surface, and I can't hold them back anymore.

"It's too much, Miles," I whisper, the words tumbling out before I can stop them. My voice cracks, and I bite my lip to steady myself.

He doesn't say anything, but his hand tightens just slightly on my knee, grounding me.

"I feel like I'm drowning," I continue, the words coming faster now, as if speaking them out loud will finally release their weight. "I'm trying so hard to keep everything together, but it's like the more I try, the more everything falls apart. I'm-I'm exhausted. I feel like I can't keep up anymore."

Miles shifts slightly, turning toward me, his arm never leaving mine. His presence is steady, solid, like an anchor in the storm raging inside me.

"I don't even know who I am half the time," I admit, my voice trembling. "I'm trying to be everything for everyone-Chris's big sister, Dad's rock, the girl who has it all together. But I'm not. I'm falling apart, Miles. And I hate myself for it."

His other hand moves to cover mine, his fingers warm and steady against my cold skin. Still, he doesn't speak, but his touch says enough: I'm here.

I close my eyes, swallowing the lump in my throat. "I hate that I can't fix everything. I hate that no matter how much I try, I can't make Dad worry less, or take away Chris's pain, or-I don't know-just be normal."

The words are pouring out now, unchecked and raw. "I feel like I'm too much, but at the same time, not enough. Too emotional. Too messy. Too broken. And no matter how much I try to hide it, it's like everyone can see it. I see it in their eyes, the way they look at me like I'm fragile. Like I'm going to shatter if they touch me the wrong way."

Tears spill down my cheeks before I can stop them, and I bury my face in my knees, ashamed of how vulnerable I've become. But Miles doesn't let go.

His voice is soft, barely above a whisper, but it cuts through the haze in my mind like a lifeline. "Lydia," he says, his tone steady, "you're not too much. And you're definitely not broken."

I look up at him, my eyes meeting his, and for the first time in what feels like forever, I feel seen. Truly, completely seen.

"All of those things you think make you 'too much'? They're the reasons why I-why everyone-loves you," he says, his voice thick with emotion. "Your fire, your stubbornness, your heart-it's what makes you you. And I wouldn't change a single thing about you."

His words hit me like a wave, and I can't stop the sob that escapes my lips. "But what if I can't keep going like this?" I choke out. "What if I just keep falling apart?"

Miles shifts closer, pulling me into his side. His arms wrap around me, and I let him hold me, my face pressed against his shoulder. "Then you let me catch you," he murmurs. "You don't have to do this alone, Lydia. You never did."

His voice is steady, a quiet promise that I don't deserve but desperately need. "Even when you think you're at your worst-when you feel like you're nothing but flaws-I'm still here. And I'll always be here."

I close my eyes, letting his words sink in, and for the first time in days, weeks, maybe even months, the weight on my chest feels just a little bit lighter.

We sit there for what feels like hours, his arms around me, my tears soaking into his shirt. He doesn't let go, doesn't try to fix me. He just holds me, and it's enough.

"Thank you," I whisper, my voice muffled against his shoulder.

"For what?" he asks, his tone light, teasing, but there's warmth in his voice that makes my heart ache.

"For loving me," I say, the words raw and honest and terrifying.

He pulls back just enough to look me in the eye, his gaze soft and unwavering. "Always," he says simply.

And for the first time in a long time, I believe him.