A little too little ✔️

Chapter 10

I woke up about a few hours later with him holding my hands, and an overwhelming smell of lavender smoking the room. It was his way of getting me to relax, and it was so nostalgic that I felt like I might undergo another panic attack. Once he noticed that I'm up and about to freak out, he let go of my hand. "I'm sorry," he whispered, and oh how I missed that voice, that calm and soothing harmony of a voice. "What're you doing here, Adrian?" I replied with a voice a little too tired and much more broken.

He hesitated for a bit before saying, "I sent my secretary to get some files from the office two days ago, but I don't think you were home or something." He looked a little guilty when he said secretary, like he didn't mean for it to hurt me, but it did and it wasn't his fault. "Yeah, as you see I'm having a bit of a hard time," I answered with an edge of sarcasm. I don't know why, but I still felt hurt and I needed to cover it up. This was something I needed to deal with on my own. I was doing it for him, just alone.

His eyes softened as he said, "I know this isn't ideal, but I swear this isn't what I wanted things to be like," he looked unsure for a second before continuing, "you've been unconscious for five hours now, I was on the brim of calling for emergency, but I knew you'd hate that." He ran his hand through his hair, exasperated, "you really need to take better care of yourself, please." He whispered the last part, like he was wishing for it rather than pleading me.

I was angry then, because what right did he have in doing this. I also just wanted him to leave because every time he was so near I got so confused, and I just wanted to hold him and tell him how much I love him. I can't though, he deserves better. So I darkened my expression and retorted, "It's not your place to tell me that anymore, I'm up now, thanks for the help but you can take your files and head back to your life." I said the last part so bitterly, because even though I wanted what's best for him, some part of me imagined that I could be that. Some twisted part of me believed that I could be enough, and I know I'm not but I wasn't thinking right. I told you. His proximity confused me.

My anger triggered his, and his face contorted into that of disapproval. "Julia, I found you shivering violently in front of an open, a turned on oven, I have every right to ask you to take care of yourself," he was mad, I made him feel something. "I get that, but you need to leave now, I'm fine, and quite honestly you're not the person I want around right now," I answered. I just wanted him to leave so I could get back to dwelling on my pain.

He didn't take that well though because he screamed the next part, "You're not fine, don't you get it?! I've been getting texts from your friends saying that they're worried about you, that you're not letting anyone up, nor are you answering your phone." My voice matched his, "Adrian, I don't know what you think you're doing, but just get out. Just leave. You don't have the right to be angry. You left me, you went away, and I'm dealing with it on my own. You said we weren't good for each other anymore, so leave." I didn't mean any of that, I was my best when I was with him, but he can have better, he could have someone that allowed him to sleep at night without interruptions. He deserved someone that wouldn't snap if she was just a little uncomfortable. He deserved someone as poised as he is. I just needed him to go.

This was his last straw, "I READ THE GODDAMN PAPERS, JULIA," I froze. He had no right to, it was personal, so personal. His voice went back to a whisper, "there's no one in this world more perfect for me than you are, there is no one that I'd rather spend the rest of my miserable life with," he stopped for a second to look me directly in the eyes, and suddenly the world felt ours again, "than you."

My eyes started tearing up, because I heard the sincerity in his voice. I heard the way he said it, and the crushing weight that's been on my heart was suddenly lifted. You see, we never talked directly about our feelings or our past. I told him my story, then he told me his. We listened and we embraced, and at the time, silence and our love felt enough. We didn't want to encumber our relationship with the words we had to say about our past. Little did we know that the reassurance we could've heard from each other could've bettered our relationship and not restricted it.

My nose reddened again, and the usual tingling of tears blurred my vision. I wiped my eyes to see him crying too. He was holding my hand again, and for the first time in weeks I felt like myself. He empowered me. Then, I asked what I thought I wasn't worthy of asking, "Then why?" He looked away, like he was a little bit ashamed and a lot more saddened, "My nightmares were of me-" he took a deep breath "-killing you." I was stunned, I already predicted that it was something to do with his father. His poor excuse of a father.

You see, he was abusive, so Adrian had to grow up in a household of beating and screaming, and until this very day it haunts him. It's why he went to therapy, but it's also why we met. His well-being mentally has been deeply affected by his dad, and despite the fact that he refused to speak about it with me, I was able to see it. I could see it, when he was scared of his own touch sometimes. I could see it when he was relaxed, and I dropped something so loudly, and he flinched more prominently than the average person. I could also see it when he woke up at night so scared of himself. It is always our childhood that messes up in ways permanent and unimaginable.

Albeit me thinking that the dreams had to do with him becoming like his father, I never thought I was involved in such a way. Of course I was though, I am the person he fears for the most. More tears escaped my eyes and I just wanted all of this to end already. "Why didn't you discuss it with me rather than just leaving?" My tone was that of irritation because I've become so tired, I was just so tired of all this sadness and all this mess. "You said it, I thought you deserved better," he stopped mid sentence again to take a breath, "than someone that dreams of having you dead."

Once he said that, I was able to look at him properly for the first time in a while. "It's not like that," I said while my tears grew more and hotter by the second. "I already told you that you're not like him," I stopped, and embraced him. We stayed like that for a really long while, silently enjoying each other's company, but this couldn't go on. It couldn't happen like that.

You see, I spent years of my life punishing myself for things that I still don't know if I should have punished myself for. I spent too much time heartbroken over everything and everyone else. It could've been the selfish human nature or the epiphany I suddenly had that urged me to say what I said. So I closed my eyes and welcomed the new emotions flooding through my veins, I had to this, I had to tell him.

I took a deep breath and separated my body from his, then I said the words that I knew I would regret for years to come, "Adrian, you know that I love you right?" The words scared him, but they scared me so much more. "Look, I've spent the past weeks after the divorce convincing myself over and over that I'm not worthy of you. Somewhere inside me, I already knew that, but there's another place that whispered to me every once in a while that we were good together, that we were each other's crutch."

My heart broke a million times, but this time I broke it for the right reasons. I broke it for me. I finished, "So, I can't continue doing this, I can't continue loving you over myself, and you can't continue doing the same." He looked like he'd been crushed, and I wanted to hold him and tell him I felt the same way. "We can work on it," he said with a faint hope reflecting on his eyes that I knew I had to dim. "I can't work on loving myself if I'm with someone that I love more than that," my voice was dry, I was so so tired. It was quiet for the longest time until, "I understand," he replied in a whisper, like he knew that all along.

We then sat there soundlessly for hours, thinking about nothing and everything. We thought about our separation and how too much love was indeed too much pain. We thought about our marriage and its wonder. We thought about our first and last date. We thought: what if we had met in a world with no insecurities? We thought: what if we had continued therapy after our marriage? We thought: why couldn't we have been better for ourselves as much as we were for each other? Two more thoughts remained, and he left with a sad smile, and one of them in mind: he was leaving because of our love for each other, and what thing would someone deny doing for love? The other thought remained in my mind, and I was sure it was one that would haunt me for a really long time: I wish we had loved each other just a little too little.
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