ANGELS LIKE YOU BY MILEY CYRUS

SIXTEEN: when you play a supporting role.

Julian

"I don't know what kinda game your dad got but she is so fine." Ben was stuffing his face. Some impromptu potluck at my house followed a night of hotboxing. Ben, his friend Dave, and I had all gotten outrageously high and had a marathon of Archer. This was, of course, the night before my birthday. When my father had called this morning with acknowledgment of the day that his sperm bank finally caught one...

We spent three hours airing the place out.

My dad didn't exactly need to know I was always high, even if I was sure he suspected it and I could 100% see him sniff it out once he'd hit my porch.

On my clothes. His nose was pressed to my collar, almost.

Andria held back a laugh when he pushed past me, eyes narrowed on mine but he cracked a smile last minute and my dad was pulling me into a hug.

Like we hadn't had dinner last week.

Keenan and my sister followed the younger boy placing a pan of Mac and cheese on the counter, his mother following with three Tupperware containers. Keenan was jumping out of his coat. I was sure Andria made him wear it with the way he breathed once freed and tossed the puffer on the couch, he immediately went for the remote.

Jade threw herself on the couch and kicked her feet up, texting, Lady barking and dashing around the table.

Andria was busying herself in the kitchen as if she were my mother. Ben must've caught the attitude that made itself present, the glare I was probably giving her... maybe I was being obvious in my facial expressions because he was knocking his shoulder into mine.

My dad didn't see it.

"Guys the place looks nice." He was looking around, hands on his hips, smiling.

"Thanks, Dad."

"Yeah, thanks, Mr. Douglas."

"Dad." And then he was pulling me into a hug again. "Happy birthday, J."

He was patting my back when Ben laughed. "Dad." It was stretched out and emphasized, "Paul's gonna be real mad about that one, huh?"

"Benji." We literally talked about this less than two hours ago. Do not mention Paul – and what was the first thing he did?

Jason Douglas' eyes blew wide. "Paul?"

"Daaaad."

"You're back together, this is great news!" It was paired with a cheesy grin just as I knew it would be. "When did that happen?"

"Really?" Jade threw over her shoulder.

"Kinda... I mean, we haven't—"

"You think he'd like to be in the wedding?"

"In?"

"Oh my God, yes!" That was Andria. Something about her standing off to the side and eavesdropping was even more annoying than her contribution. "I know we only met once but I've been in love with his work since he came for dinner, and I was hoping he could do a live piece for us. We'd pay whatever rate, I just love the impressionistic style –"

Oh my God, no.

I could feel my eyes roll, I could feel myself kissing my teeth. I could see the way her face dropped.

She had locked eyes with me then. They were curious almost, mostly unreadable. She was looking over at my father whose eyes were locked onto that piece still.

He didn't say anything.

"He probably won't have time for the wedding."

"He just had a gallery opening in Midtown, correct?" Andria again. "With Cleo Lavoie, right? I've had the pleasure of working alongside her once. Funny story actually, we were in London–"

At that moment, the dog made itself home on my feet and I bent to pick her up, "Hey, Lady."

"J." That was Ben. It was paired with a look of disgust.

Andria turned to retreat into the kitchen, and my Dad followed her in seconds. Jade turned away.

***

Maybe family therapy told them to let me talk to myself, or maybe they didn't care much anymore but I was upstairs in my room with the door closed before I could even dwell on that thought. My resin pen was literally sitting on my desk.

I thought about it.

"I can see how you feel cornered." Jade's voice sounded from the doorway and immediately, I closed off. I guess we still had work to do.

"Not now, Jade."

"I'm not even gonna try since I know that I won't go about it the right way but Ben's gonna come talk to you." She simply said. "I just wanted to be nice 'cause he apologized to Andria and is going off about respect down there."

"Huh?"

The indiscernible look she gave me was paired with a shrug and she stepped out when Ben met my eyes from the hallway. She was right, he looked pissed.

I didn't get it. "Yo?"

"What?"

"What?" His eyes were filled with this incredulous look. Like I had somehow offended him.

"Ben, I don't understand what your problem is but it has nothing to do with you."

"You really dragging it, J."

"What the fuck?"

"They came to cook you dinner on your birthday and you're up here angry for what? The reminder that they gettin' married?"

Whatever. "I'm not obligated to stay in rooms where I do not feel comfortable."

"Valid. But you obligated to suck up your pride for his happiness though."

It was paired with a laugh when I didn't seem too impressed by his solution. "You know they're not gonna call it off just cause you sour, so, buck the fuck up."

As if he was the one that was marrying her: "Like she really a beautiful woman. Like wife, like build a family ass fine." Ben laughed. "You got an auntie? I wanna be wed by 28."

"Ben."

Deadpan. "Why don't you like her?"

"I didn't say that."

Even deader deadpan. "You do not like that lady."

"... Why you don't like her? Is it cause she's prettier than you?"

"Shut up."

"It's the only reason I can think that your grown ass would run up to your room and have a temper tantrum."

"Fuck off, Ben."

"Then why then?"

I don't dislike Andria. "I just think they moved too fast. I'm a bad person for that? They only dated for like 6 months."

"They're 50."

Fuck off. "Whatever, Ben, I knew you wouldn't get it."

"Explain it then, without making yourself sound selfish."

"Fuck off."

"... Go on."

Silence.

Whatever. "He wants me to be his best man? But I'm the last person that found out about the wedding? Like—"

"—You don't wanna be his best man?" Was he not listening to me? "Dude, that's weird."

"See, I knew you weren't gonna–"

"No, you're being a dick. You're his son... You're twenty and you wanted to get married." I wished people would stop bringing that up to disregard my very valid feelings. Even Dr. Mandy agreed that I had a right to feel this way. "You're practically married and he's accepted that."

"He accepted me? He was supposed to."

"Yeah, he was."

"... But people actually have dads who don't support them, J. People have dads who leave them and beat them and don't love them." Was this Ben's weekly lecture on privilege? Yes. Did I start to see where he was coming from? Yes. "Calum's gay and his dad hates him."

"People's parents kill them because they're different. I know your mom is a tough subject but you can talk about her."

"I can talk about her?"

"You can."

"I can't." Without sounding weak.

"J, I'm not gonna judge you."

God will.

"God won't judge you, dude, he's too busy judging her." I wasn't sure what it was about Ben that could piss me off and then in the same breath make me feel so much better. Suddenly, I felt calmer. He wasn't the type to let me sit in something, he helped me work through those thoughts.

Maybe the abrasiveness of his nature made it easier to hold myself accountable for defining my feelings and knowing how to deal with them. Again, I found myself thanking God for Benji. "She's your mother and she left you. Everything Paul did, we did, that was her job. She was supposed to do that, she was supposed to be your mom, you did your job."

Was he... tearing up?

"Talk about her."

"Ben."

He didn't budge, he let the silence linger for a moment and didn't move to fill it.

"She..." my throat was closing, I coughed, "she– uh, she lives 15 miles from here. In the mountains."

I felt a headache already, the tears would come soon.

"She told my 92-year-old great-grandma that I'm gay... On Christmas. And she left the church but only after telling the entire congregation that I was a Satanist. She ruined my reputation and I didn't know until I got back and my dad kept it from me because he thought I couldn't handle it." And I was in California defending her.

I was defending her against Jade, I made my little sister feel like an antagonist by siding with someone who also hurt her. "Carrie Mulford's parents are pissed."

"Who the fuck is Carrie Mulford?"

"The girl my mom was trying to hook me up with so I'd forget I like boys."

"That's fucked up."

"Yeah, and my dad–"

"How is that your dad's fault?" He dismissed it.

"You think you could have handled knowing that? Being two-thousand miles away from everyone?" I hated that they all felt like that. "Be honest with yourself, J."

I'm sick, but that doesn't mean I don't deserve to be included. "Doesn't mean he had to hide his engagement."

"I mean, they didn't exactly hide it. Your dad got engaged, so what if he called you a week later?"

"A week."

"Maybe it was because he knew you'd act like this." He shrugged, and it really, really pissed me off. I tried not to let that show, just kissed my teeth, and thought better of it. "People trust you when you prove to be trustworthy, and you haven't had a good thing to say about her since."

"They're like 50." 47, close. " Not saying you gotta like her but this is when you get married after 6 months. Your mom left three years ago. Hell, it's been a year your dad's been engaged how long you been complaining."

"Ok, Ben."

"Don't dismiss me when I'm telling you real shit." He had harsh eyes, and that look on his face that said he wasn't gonna be okay with me disagreeing, Ben was pretty argumentative if given a topic he was passionate about... for some reason, my family dynamic was suddenly his business, and his passion?

"It's time to grow the fuck up and be the fucking man. You gotta start finding the actual problem instead of getting mad at yourself for the symptoms – your boyfriend's not okay, you're mad at your dad because you can't be mad at Paul."

"This isn't about Paul."

"Everything's about Paul."

"I knew you were gonna say that so that's why I didn't bring it up. That's what everybody says."

"J, I'm telling you you're tripping." Thanks. "And that maybe you're projecting just a little bit."

Okay.

"I'm your brother. You're a grown-ass man and I know mad people been babying you about it so I'ma be straight with you. She makes your dad happy. Right?"

"Yeah." It was the happiest I'd seen him since Mom.

"J, least she's cool. Just let him be happy. You been through a lot, I'll give you that. You ain't have it easy, but her? She ain't got nothing to do with that, so don't take it out on her. Tell him yes."

Everything's about Paul. I snapped at her because she mentioned him.

It was paired with a look of pity. Did everyone else see something I couldn't?

"You can talk to me about Paul, you can talk to me about your mom. You can get pissed, we just can't fix it until we know what it is."

***

"Julian, can we talk?" It was after an awkward dinner. I tried not to make it awkward, I really did. I tried to add to the conversation, and Ben had jokes where I fell short. My dad seemed a bit happier with me.

Andria was again, a great cook, she'd prepared a roasted chicken that tasted gourmet, with enough sides that the table picked over, happily. She'd made enough that when we were done eating and Ben went to clear the table, she told us to put the leftovers in the fridge.

It was at least a week's worth of food.

He smiled, thanked her, and brought a cake from the kitchen as she grabbed my elbow gently.

I nodded, trying to soften my gaze when we locked eyes amongst the controlled chaos that was my family unit. She smiled.

I could tell she was trying, she'd blessed the food, or she asked Keenan to. She wished me a happy birthday along with many more, it all succeeded in making me feel worse. Now, she was leading me to the back porch, the sun hitting me and almost instantly boosting my mood.

Our deck was two stories off the ground, a brown wood. We had a patio table and four mix-matched chairs – enough for our friends, we had more stacked off to the side. A fire pit sat in the middle, plants lining the perimeter.

I moved to light the bug-repellant candle as Andria made herself comfortable, choosing a chair and curling into her cardigan.

Straight black hair, high cheekbones, perfect skin, and big eyes. Ben was right, she was really pretty, and the look she gave me was so kind. She was calm, she calmed my dad down, I could tell he needed it sometimes.

And they looked happy.

I bit my tongue, and I didn't think before I spoke, just forced that wall down. I was still standing, it felt almost awkward to sit. "I'm sorry for how I've acted."

She nodded. Silence set in, "sit."

She was smiling up at me, maternal. It felt like I'd been waiting for permission because I obliged very quickly.

Maybe she was just extremely persuasive in nature.

I was sitting beside her, and she chose eye contact.

For just a second. "I'm not trying to replace your mother."

Ripping the bandaid off, huh? "I know."

"Do you?" I don't know. "I care about your father; I love him very much and he loves you more than life." She was trying to catch my eyes again, leaning over by the pit that sat in front of us and looking up at me. "I see why."

I looked at her then and wondered if that was a known parenting tactic because it worked.

"Andria..."

"Julian..." I bit my lip, and tried not to laugh at the way she countered me so quickly. "I know that I'm not her and I know that it's gonna take a while but I want to be your friend."

"You're a cool kid, and it kind of hurts that you don't like me."

How old was she again?

It felt easy to talk to her though, I was sure other people said that all the time. Something about her felt so warm. "I'm happy you're not her." My dad deserves someone who won't leave when things get rough, he already had to deal with me and my issues.

"She's still your mother."

"No, she's not." She made that clear, "she didn't love me."

"She did–"

"Not me." That was clear, in how she left, in how quickly I went from prodigal son to mistake. "She-she loved who she thought I was, who she thought that she could make me. She doesn't love me."

"I don't know her, but—"

"You don't abandon your kids." That was it.

"... Not because they found the courage to be in love. She-she hates me because I didn't wanna suppress who I was and end up... killing myself?" I couldn't stop. "You don't choose some idealized version of the world and creation over your own fucking kid. You don't say the things she's said to me or do the things that she's done, not when you love someone..."

Andria didn't seem to know what to say, and I thought opening up would've been better, but suddenly, I was just filled with so much dread.

"...I'm sorry–"

"No." She grabbed for my hand as it rested on my thigh and she pulled it towards her. Andria was leaning closer, eyes full of sincerity and focused on mine. Her legs were crossed over, and she held my hand on her knee and gave me just enough space. I felt validated... how was she so good at that?

"I'm sorry," she shook her head, "I don't know what happened and I don't need to, I shouldn't have spoken on something that I didn't have knowledge of."

She seemed a bit bashful. "Jason is very particular with the things that she shares about Loraine and you guys, I respect that."

"I just said that because I don't see how anyone could not love their kid, you know? Especially a kid like you." She looked so confused I wondered how she felt like she knew who I was with how little we interacted. "You're smart, you're a good person, and I'm so glad that Keenan gets you. You deserve a mom who loves you."

I felt I could cry.

"You're good at this."

"What?"

"You're easy to talk to." I shrugged. "Keenan's lucky."

"Thank you."

I nodded. I saw the worry dissipate, the crease in her brow softening.

"I'm sorry for how I treated you." It felt like it had to be said again.

"I plan on spending the rest of my life with that man in there and you need to be part of it."

"I know asking you to trust me is a lot. You've been through a lot and I know that you have a lot of pain, unimaginable pain, from a lot of people that were supposed to care for you, that you trusted... I know how it feels to lose a parent, I think mine was easier to digest, I cannot imagine how you feel."

"But I want to be a person that you can call. I just need you to let me in a little."

"I'm sorry."

Andria didn't seem to mind the incessant apologies, I felt like she was owed them, almost.

I pinched my lip between my teeth, gnawed on it for a second, and wondered if I should actually talk about what was bothering me. I felt comfortable. She was asking for a chance, and she seemed good at advice.

"Wanna talk about somethin' honey?"

"... Can I ask for your advice?" I knew my dad wouldn't know what to say... his wouldn't either.

She smiled. "Of course, you can."

I tried the approach that worked the best in therapy. "My boyfriend is lying to me." I ripped the bandaid off, and let it sting, "about his sobriety and probably some other stuff."

It hurt to say it out loud. I finally understood how he felt that summer... like he was stuck in a glass box like I couldn't get in and he was suffocating. "He's perfect. And he's in pain and he's a liar, and I love him."

"Oh."

I could tell Andria was trying to gauge just how far gone I was. "He was -um- he's been going through so much, and he's just off." Let it go. "He... kissed someone else." Andria's eyes went wide, "but then he told me about it so it feels like I can't be mad at him."

I tried to forget about him and Izzy, I tried to let it go, but it burned.

Bad.

"But you're mad at him."

"Yeah."

He chose Isaiah, constantly. He went back for him. It was starting to feel like he did it on purpose, even if he said he didn't... even if I trusted him.

He had the audacity to call me out for letting soccer and fun and my fucking mental health take priority when I was in California... he told me that I wasn't ready to be in a relationship again all so he could keep me as a friend and not have to take accountability for Isaiah.

He was fucking him the entire time, and he could kiss him, he could lie to me. I let him lie to me, I let him kiss me woozy in that hotel room all because I didn't want him to feel bad and maybe that was enabling.

It was starting to feel like he had to drink because spending time with me was just so hard.

He hides things that he doesn't want to talk about, he is so good at making that all go away. Stop treating him with kid gloves.

"He hid liquor in our hotel room and I can't be mad because I know he's going through something."

"You can be mad, you should be mad."

I can't blame him for being sick.

"It's ugly." And that surmised everything I felt.

"Yeah." Really ugly, uglier than I thought it would be, "yeah, I mean... I mean, I didn't expect it. How could I, wh-when I met him, he was..."

"They're always good at the beginning." He's still him.

"He's still great to me, but he's-he's different. He's short, he's, he doesn't..."

I don't know for sure what it is but he's just different.

"He's mean?" She asked. He's dismissive.

"He's going through a lot."

"He shouldn't be mean to you."

But he's not mean to me per se. He's short, he's irritable, and he tries to pull away... but then he's just so, so perfect again, it doesn't feel real.

His show is in a few days and he asked if he could have them to himself. That filled me with worry. It was my birthday and I was so worried about him and all I got was a text.

Not a call.

Not a good morning.

A 'happy birthday, babe' that's it. No confetti.

"It's not like that ... he just- he won't let go of the control long enough to admit that he-he needs help – he's just, he's quiet and he's sad. He's-" cheating on me.

He's sneaking off to the bar, he's lying.

"I went through some of his stuff, there were court documents and his grandma's dying."

"Court documents?"

Maybe I was telling her too much but I felt so comfortable all of a sudden, maybe I shouldn't admit to going through his personal articles. "Yeah, I didn't read them, felt like it was intrusive." That much was true.

"And illegal."

"Yeah." A laugh bubbled up and she smiled a bit.

"...He's off, Isaiah said he was off–"

"Who's Isaiah?"

"Isaiah's his ex."

"His ex." It was a statement, not a question.

"After me."

"Oh. Cause you broke up."

"For three months–"

She looked almost... pissed. "Three?"

"They were roommates."

"Jules..."

"I know."

Everyone looked at me like that when I told them. I was stuck in a time-lapse, obsessing over him, weaning off of him and he... was falling in love with someone else. "I know but when it's good..." He really rebounded into an entire relationship. "He was-he was there for me, he took care of me, I have to be there for him."

"He hurt you."

"Yeah."

"Does he know that it hurt you?"

"Yeah."

"Really?" He never lets me talk about it. He never wants to talk about Izzy. "Did he kiss Isaiah?"

Andria took my silence as an answer.

"You don't owe him for the things that he decided to do for you."

I know that.

My therapist drilled that into me when she'd become privy to the nature of our relationship. She said it seemed to always be filled with worry, and obviously said that it wasn't good for my anxiety. I wasn't not sick... but I hadn't had a single panic attack since moving back. I was better, I was managing. I was level-headed. I love him.

It's not just attachment, its not fear, it's love. I am in love with him.

"He's the love of my life."

And he's keeping this from me.

"Maybe he needs to know that you will leave."

I won't.

It's so clear that I can't.

Andria saw that on my face. She focused in on me and then, locked eyes with me. Her gaze always seemed to command attention, I noticed, and she dimmed it the first few times we met. She was kind, she was smart, and she was funny.

Maybe Mom wasn't a fair reason not to trust his judgment.

Dad lost her too. He thought he knew her even more than I did.

"You need to be able to pull yourself away, in any context, you need to have that self-preservation in you to leave for yourself." I didn't want to leave him. "Sometimes people need to lose things to appreciate them and you deserve a love that is constant and present."

I know.

She frowned. "You can give grace but your happiness can't be something that you compromise on."

"His show is coming up." And, of course, I spilled about his sobriety and she knew the goddamn curator. "You think he's in a present mind to showcase work?"

He's a good actor.

***

I love him.

There's nothing that compares to it.

I wake up loving him, I fall asleep loving him, and I fall into daydreams of our lives spent together in a different world... a different country, a different state– somewhere where no one knows us.

I dream of it; I've been saving since I moved back.

And when it feels like I cannot love him anymore, my heart remembers.

"Do you know that I love everything about you?" He was so soft with me, he always was when I got like this. Instead of waiting for my response, he hummed. "Hm?"

I could hear his heart beating, could feel his fingers massaging my scalp when he moved to kiss my temple. He's sitting on the edge of the tub, feet in the water, my head resting back on his thighs. "Want me to list them? I can but we'll be here awhile."

"I love the way you smile, that's cheesy, right? But like the corners first and you always hesitate, always, but then you're grinning and it's so beautiful. You're so beautiful, Jules, it's insane."

But he was lying. I wondered if he added the bubbles so he didn't have to look at me.

"I'm fat."

He never really disagreed with that, didn't feel the need to tell me that there was no way that I was possibly gaining weight, instead he made it feel like a good thing.

"You're healthy, baby."

He was hugging my body to his, kissing my cheek softly, pulling back, brushing his fingers through my wet hair. "You feel healthy? You do, right? You feel better... you were feeling better, you can tell me if it changed."

"Yeah."

"Yeah? Good." He was massaging my shoulders now, I didn't realize how badly they ached. Tossing and turning for close to 24 hours did a number on me. "You're doing so well, Angel."

He's not telling the truth, it's obvious in the pain in my shoulder, in under-eye sag, and muted response.

"I'm so proud of you. It's good weight, it means you're taking care of yourself." I wasn't taking care of myself, he'd been taking care of me. He thought that staying alive was good enough effort, he didn't expect anything else from me. "And that's all that I want, that's all I ask of you, and I will love you until I die."

"I'm a burden."

"Every single time you walk into a room, I get butterflies." He was smiling that same way, looking at me with so much intensity, it made me shrink into myself. He didn't seem deterred, instead just kissed my temple again. "My heart races just thinking about you, I don't think this feeling is ever gonna go away."

"I am so in love with you and that means taking care of you when you need it. And you're never gonna stop being absolutely perfect... not to me."

"I love your freckles." He was nearly cooing at the thought. "And your eyes, and the way that you look at me when I tell you that I love you."

I looked at him then, watching his breath hitch. He leaned to kiss my forehead.

"Like you can't believe me but then you do, and you love me back." I could hear him choke up. "And I love the way that you love me."

"It's soft and patient. I love the way you love me." He repeated. "And I-I love the way that you hate not... not being the absolute best at things -even if you're great at them- so you're always putting in 110 percent and you're so determined to make something of yourself, Angel."

"I love that. You try so hard all the time, that you fight so hard, you're so strong."

"You're so..."

"I love the way you scrunch your nose up... you know, when you wanna say something or when you wanna correct someone and you feel like it'll be rude, so instead you just..."

"... I love the little frown you get when you're thinking a little too hard. How you ask me how I'm feeling two minutes after waking up, how you wait for me to start eating every single time, no matter how hungry— we always eat together. I love that."

"I love the way you order tacos with jalapeños and then pull all the jalapeños off because you didn't want jalapeños but you don't want the people to judge you for being picky..."

"I love how you don't let us have a bad day, it's always a bad moment. I love how even now you're comforting me."

I didn't realize I'd defaulted to massaging the joints in his hand. He was worked up, I could feel it and something in me subconsciously wanted to relieve it.

My body loved him most.

"I love sitting together and not having to speak. I love slow nights when we're stuck between two movies and you tell me the pros and cons of each because you can't pick yourself."

"I like that you can tell me a little fun fact about everything. That you learn Jeopardy facts on the off chance you'll be surprised with trivia. You're interested in building a life with me and not just a few years, you make me feel so secure. You make me feel safe giving you my heart and I'm so ready to love you until I die."

"You learn things easily, you adapt, you're smart and so capable." You're so capable. That's what helped me, "you have so much potential and it's so inspiring."

He kissed my forehead. "And you're really pretty. That's just a bonus."

***

"I think we should talk."

Pablo-Luis was low-lidded when I arrived at his. He didn't expect me, he asked me to leave him alone for a reason I was sure. Andria told me not to respect that boundary if it would enable him further. He wasn't in the position to set firm boundaries for himself if he was unwilling to stick by them.

He said he wasn't going to drink and as soon as I walked in, I could see it in his eyes.

He was wined out. I could tell, it was obvious. There was a glass on the table, nearing the last few sips, the bottle half-empty. He didn't rush, he knew I'd seen it.

There was a piece sitting on the floor, likely where he was last sitting.

He just went to grab the glass and head to the kitchen, leaving me standing in the doorway.

I shrugged my jacket off, hanging it on the hook by the door. My love didn't peak his head out. He didn't greet me, he'd opened the door quietly and immediately retreated to his previous spot in shame.

I turned, walked a few steps, leaned on the doorframe, and watched him wash that glass.

Twice, he's washed it twice now.

"We should talk," I repeated, hands in my pockets. Prepare for resistance.

He didn't seem bothered though, not at first glance. I noticed his shoulders tense up, I noticed him falter like he was gonna scrub the glass again... and then he was turning on the faucet to rinse it again. He sat it on the drying rack before turning to look at me. "About?"

And it was short, and dismissive, exactly how Andria said it would be.

It was when he looked at me I could see the paint on his face, on his hands and pant leg.

A little smear of white paint across his cheekbone.

Big, washed-out eyes, my eyes cut over to the canvas.

"You know."

He scoffed, irritated. "I don't."

"You had a drink today."

"I didn't."

"I saw it." Did he think I was dumb enough to believe it or weak enough to let it go? "I can smell it, baby."

"I'm fine, Jules."

I tried not to let it sting, tried to ignore the way he turned away from me again. He was walking past me then like I didn't really exist. "Why won't you talk to me?" Instead of responding, he proved my point by standing in the middle of the room and just staring at me like I was the one who had to explain himself.

"I asked to be alone." It was dead and empty and paired with crossed arms and an unreadable look. I could feel something changing these past weeks but I didn't expect him to completely shut me out. He was shutting down at confrontation and I didn't know how to approach this any differently.

"Is it 'cause I didn't talk to you?" I tried to make sense of it. "Are you punishing me for that?"

My love didn't seem to have an answer for that, he really didn't seem like he cared... at all.

"You're drinking." And you didn't tell me. "Why?"

In the softest voice, "I don't know where you're getting these accusations from–"

"Your location is on my laptop, still, Paul. I know you were at the bar." Nothing. "I know you were drinking wine just now. You can't lie to me. You were drinking at the hotel too!" I tried to avoid the hysterics, he was playing games again, and we promised we wouldn't do that. We promised honesty.

He asked for honesty and accountability. He told me that he could shut down. "Of course, I noticed, P."

Of course, I notice your low energy, your shift, and your anger.

"You need to talk to someone." And he was still standing there, biting his tongue, staring at the wall beside me. It didn't feel like he was hearing me. "You can't handle this by yourself. You're letting it consume you, I did that." I sat in my depression for months. I let it loom over everything, I let it take college and soccer, and meaningful relationships away.

It controlled me, "I was gonna kill myself and I hid liquor and pills." I could see it when that hit. I watched him swallow, hard, eyes watering. He looked at me then, scrunched brows, flared nose, almost like he was angry with me. I was angry with myself. "I didn't talk to anyone, it got worse."

"I'm not gonna kill myself, Jules."

"PJ." He didn't even react. "Look, you think you have it under control but–"

"I'm not gonna kill myself."

"You sound like me, babe."

He laughed then. "I'm not that fucking weak."

"You really think that of me?"

He didn't say anything. "This is the second time you've said something like that to me, do you really think that?"

He didn't answer that, just looked away. I wasn't sure if it was smart to hold him to things he's said while hurting. I have never spoken to him that way.

"I have never said anything like that to you."

"I asked you to leave."

"You didn't."

"I'm asking you now."

"And I'm saying no."

He was trying to hurt me. "I love you and I'm telling you that you need to talk to someone."

"Oh, 'cause that works so fucking well for you?" He rolled his eyes. "You think you're fucking healed?"

I tried not to let that mean much, told myself he was being defensive so I'd leave, and he could keep drinking. My depression would only get worse if everyone I tried to push away just... left. Paul knew not to listen to my spiraling thoughts, I had to try.

I let it sit in the air, let him think over what he said and I could see his gaze avert to the floor. "Listen to how you're talking to me right now. We don't do that." We've never been anything but gentle with each other. "You would never say that to me."

"... You can't handle this on your own, that's not your fault."

If he refuses help, I leave. I can't let him refuse.

"It's not a lifetime thing, it's just someone to talk to unless you have a sponsor or someone I can call for you– it's eating you, babe."

"I don't need you to take care of me, Jules."

But he was crying, I could see the tears streaming down his face. He didn't wipe them, he just stood there in defeat, and I tried to take this as a win.

"You need to take a shower. You smell like the bar."

***

"Are you mad at me?"

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