When I Was Theirs

19. Ben

19

Ben

“ Y ou should have let me carry that.” Emmy scolds me as I set down her suitcase. I can’t hide my panting, the sheen of sweat on my brow. "We should have waited for the elevator."

“I can carry a fucking case,” I snap. The words leave my mouth before I can pull them back, and Emmy’s hand recoils from above my arm as I turn. She was closer than I realized.

Shit—

“God, I’m sorry.” I’m already reaching for her, but she steps back. Fuck.

She forces a smile before she turns away from me, moving into my kitchen. “It’s fine. Are you hungry?”

I open my mouth. The apology hovers on my lips, but she disappears out of sight before I can battle through the frustration in my own head. “No.”

Frowning, I slip out onto the balcony of my apartment and grip the railing, staring out across the water. I picked this apartment for this view. But all I can see is the expression on her face as she backed away from me.

I snapped at her.

At Emmy.

At my Emmy.

My head drops.

“The hospice nurse will be here in an hour.” Her voice is soft. Cautious. “To talk us through what happens next.”

And I hate myself. “Okay.”

I don’t turn around. She sighs, and then I feel her arms wrapping around me. “Ben.”

“I was an asshole.”

And worse, it’s still there. Rage thrums beneath my veins, blood pulsing in a rush in my ears.

Not for her. Never for her.

But rage, nonetheless.

“They said this might happen,” she whispers. “Mood swings.”

“Is that what this is?” I ask bitterly.

Her arms slip away at the ice in my own words. “I’m warming up some soup—,”

It’s all I can take, most days. “I don’t want any damn soup !”

My hands are shaking. I push past her and stalk back inside, moving to the sideboard we picked out together and pulling open drawers.

Emmy follows me. “What are you looking for?”

My hands are shaking. “Paper. I need to call….,”

I need to call. I was going to call today.

To call—

Emmy presses a pad into my hands. A pen. “Here. You can use my phone, okay?”

“Thanks,” I mutter.

And then I stare at it.

I need to…

I don’t know.

I don’t know .

“Jared,” Emmy whispers. “You need to call Jared.”

Yes . “I know .”

But I don’t know anything. I press the pen to the paper, but it doesn’t work.

Nothing comes out on the page. Just… squiggles. Random lines.

“This pen is broken.” Fucking hell. Can nothing go right today?

Breathing heavily, I look to Emmy. “Can you find me another pen?”

Her nod is slow. “Or… I can write it down for you.”

“Not without a fucking pen .” I throw it down, watching it bounce across the floor until it rolls against Emmy’s feet. She bends down to pick it up. “It’s broken, Em. Don’t bother.”

“That’s fine.” She moves past me, digging around in the drawers. “Here’s another one. What’s his number, Ben?”

“Whose number?”

“Jared.” She stumbles over his name, and I frown at her.

“Why do you want Jared’s number?”

We stare at each other for long moments.

“I don’t understand,” I say finally. But that doesn’t sound right, either. My voice… it’s too high. And my chest suddenly feels cold. “I don’t understand, Em. What are we doing? What… what was I saying?”

Why am I shaking?

Em steps closer. And she’s smiling, although it doesn’t look right. But I focus on her face, on that smile as she takes my hand. “Come and sit down, Ben. The nurse will be here soon.”

“What nurse?”

She swallows. “The hospice nurse.”

I try to think, but my head is blank. “They’re coming here? Or to my apartment?”

“This is your apartment.” Her fingers trace the back of my hand, drawing little shapes. “Don’t worry. Why don’t you close your eyes for a minute?”

“I’m not tired.”

But I close my eyes, resting my head back against the couch. “I need to call him.”

I can’t remember. But it feels important.

“I know.” Soft fingers stroke my hair. “Rest first.”

“Okay.”