“I’m good.” She holds her hand up, smiling. “Keep it.”
I let out a small laugh. “Thanks.” I shove the handkerchief into my pocket. Then taking a deep breath, I push the door to Mia’s room open.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Mia
One look at Jordan and I know.
I can’t be with him anymore.
Not because I don’t love him, I do, but all I see when I look at him is my mother’s betrayal. She chose to raise him, not me.
It hurts to be near him.
I don’t want to end up resenting Jordan for everything he had, everything that should have been mine. This isn’t his fault – what my so called mother did wasn’t his fault. My rational side knows this, but it doesn’t change the way I feel. She wanted him. Not me.
I can understand why. He’s such a beautiful, amazing person. He shines so bright. He is so much more than me.
And he deserves better than I can ever give.
He deserves better than I am.
I’m broken. Damaged.
Dr. Packard thinks I’m repairable. I’m not so sure about that. Look at me – where I am right now. What I’ve done to myself.
I’ve hit bottom. Now, I need to figure out if I can ever climb back up, but I have to do that without Jordan.
“Hey.” He closes the door behind him.
“Hi.”
I can barely bring myself to look at him. It hurts, knowing that this will be the last time I’ll see him.
I’ve known him such a short time, but the time feels irrelevant. It’s as if I’ve known him always. And never seeing him again will be the hardest thing I’ll ever do. Harder than living through Oliver. Harder than getting away from Forbes. Harder than combating my illness.
Jordan takes the seat by my bed. The seat Dr. Packard recently vacated, after spending a good hour talking to me about my illness. I didn’t go to in depth about my issue with food, but it was hard to avoid the bulimia conversation as being a medical professional, she knew. I tried to deny it at first, but the signs were all there for her to read.
After I confessed to her – the first person I have ever told – and how long I’ve been eating and purging—ten years—she went on to tell me everything I already knew, about the damage I’m doing to my body, the health risks – liver or kidney failure … possibly death.
You’d think already knowing these things would have stopped me a long time ago, but I didn’t want to think of those things. I just wanted the pain to stop, and for a long time it helped. And maybe, deep down, I did want to die.
But after being in here, talking with Dr. Packard … but mainly from knowing Jordan and my time with him, I’ve realized that what I want is to live and be happy.
And to do that, I need help.
Dr. Packard told me of a specialized clinic that can help me, and that she would refer me to them, but for the treatment to work, I have to want it – I have to want to get better.
And I do. I’m ready to get better. I need to get better.
Dr. Packard is calling the clinic now to see if they have a place for me, so all that’s left for me to do is tell Jordan that I’m leaving.
“How are you doing?” he asks, his voice soft.
“I’m okay.” I glance at him. His eyes are on my face, deep and dark and searching.
It hurts so badly to look at him. Each time I do, I’m confused by the love I feel for him and the past he represents. The past that should have been mine.
Looking down, my fingers trace patterns over the comforter. “Jordan … I need to apologize for how you found me in that motel room.”
“I’m gonna stop right you there. You don’t have anything to be sorry for. I’m just relieved that I did find you and that you’re okay.” His fingers rub at his chest. “I’m the one who has everything to apologize for, babe. You wouldn’t have gone there … been alone if it weren’t for me keeping…” He runs his hand through his dark hair, blowing out a breath. “God, I’m just so fuckin’ sorry that I didn’t tell you about my mom—” He stops short.
His mom. He’s right, she was his mom.
His eyes flash to mine. They’re filled with apologies, and sorrow. He feels sorry for me. Pity.
I hate pity.
“I just…” He exhales. “I should have told you the moment I found out that Belle was Anna … your mother,” he highlights this, his voice deep and low with meaning.
I turn my head and stare out the window. “It doesn’t matter anymore.”
“Yeah, it does. And I want you to know I’m sorry … for everything. I know it doesn’t seem like it, but I would never do anything to hurt you. I was just afraid to tell you. That if I did, I’d lose you.” He slides his fingers over my hand.
“Don’t.” I pull my hand away.
I have to shield my heart from the look of hurt on his face.
The silence between us is blistering.
He scrubs his hands over his face. “Have I lost you?” His words are so quiet, but they hurt with the intensity of a scream.
I close my eyes on the tears burning them. “I’m sorry, Jordan.”
“Jesus…” He shakes his head. “Just tell me one thing – is it because I kept it from you, or because of Belle?”
“It’s not because of you, it’s because of me—”
“Don’t give me the ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ bullshit!” He stands, moving away from the bed.
He’s angry. Anger I can work with. Anger I understand.
“Just give me the truth, Mia. You might not think I deserve it, but it’s all I’m asking of you.”
My eyes snap to him. “Fine.” I sit up on my haunches. “You want the truth? The truth is every single time I look at your face, I see everything I never had – what she should have given me, but instead chose to give to you. Do I blame you for that? No. But it doesn’t change the fact that the woman who gave birth to me—who was supposed to be my mother—chose to be yours. She left me with him!” My voice is getting louder, and my hands are shaking, but I can’t seem to stop. “And I hate the way that makes me feel – knowing that she chose you over me!”
“She didn’t choose me!” He bangs his hand against his chest. “I wasn’t anything to do with her decision – you need to hear me out, so you can understand—”
“No!” I press my hands to my head. “I can’t hear anymore!” I know what I feel is irrational, but I can’t think straight in this moment. All I can do is feel – and I feel irrational.
“I hate this! I hate everything! I hate me!” I’m crying now.
Jordan crosses the room in a few strides and pulls me into his arms.
The feel of him…
His heat and strength…
I curl my fingers into his shirt. “Everything’s a mess. I’m a mess.” I sniffle, pulling away, unable to be this close to him knowing that I’m leaving.
Not willing to let me go, he takes my face in his hands.
“You’re not a mess.” He sweeps his thumbs over my cheeks, drying my tears. “Just talk to me, babe. Let me help you.”
A crushing feeling in my chest takes my breath with it. “After everything I just said to you … you still want to help me. Why?”
His grip on my face increases. His eyes darkening. “Because I fuckin’ love you, Mia.” His eyes close, almost as if he’s in pain.
He loves me.
Jordan rests his forehead against mine, his hand sliding around to cup the back of my neck.
“That didn’t come out exactly as I’d planned, but it is the truth. I’m in love you with.” His breath fans my skin. His words crush my heart. “I know it’s probably too soon, and I know you have a lot to deal with right now and that I’m the cause of some of it, but I just want you to know the extent of my feelings for you before you throw us away. I love you, Mia. Every part of you. The best and worst. The broken, the perfect. The bad, the good. You’re it for me, babe. I see only you.”
He loves me.
Jordan is in love with me.
Me.
I love him too. So much.
But it won’t work.
I’m too broken. Too hurt. Too resentful.
And I can’t see any of that going away anytime soon.
He deserves so much more than I can give him. And to tell him that I love him would be wrong and selfish of me.
I open my eyes. “I’m leaving Durango.”
He pulls back from me, hand still curled around my nape. “Are you going back to Boston?”
I frown. “No. That’s the last place I’d go. Why would you think that?”
He shakes his head. Eyes down.
This is it. I have to tell him about my illness. “Jordan, there’s something you don’t know about me…” I stall, blowing out a breath. “When you found me in the motel room … I don’t know if you saw all the empty food wrappers?”
“I saw them.”
“Well … I have this problem.” I dig my fingernails into the bed of my hand. “When I’m stressed or upset, I, uh … I eat … a lot of food, then I, uh … I make myself throw it back up.”
He doesn’t react. Doesn’t move. He just stares back at me with the same emotion that was there moments ago.
“I have an illness called bulimia, Jordan. I don’t know if you’ve heard of it before.”
“I’ve heard of it.”
“Okay. Well, it’s not – for me, anyway – about being thin,” I clarify. “It’s about the problems up here.” I touch my fingers to my head. “When things in my life are too painful, or out of my control, or just too much for me to deal with, I take the pain away using the comfort of food. Then to get the control back, I guess you could say, I make myself throw the food back up.”
“How long has it been going on for?” he asks softly.
I take a deep breath. “Ten years, on and off. Worse in the last few.”
“How do we fix this?”
I meet his determined eyes. “We don’t. I have to.” Blowing out a breath, I tell him, “There’s a specialist facility in Denver for people who suffer with eating disorders like mine. I’m going there to try and get better.”
“How long will you be there for?”
I lift my shoulders. “I don’t know … however long it takes, I guess.”
His eyes lift. I see a flicker of hope in them. “Denver’s not far, Mia – like a six hour drive, max – I’ll drive out every weekend to visit—”
“No,” I say, squashing his hope.
“No,” he echoes.
“I have to do this alone.” I pull on my lower lip. “I don’t want you to come visit me.”
“Okay…” He rubs the bridge of his nose with his finger. “What about when you’re better … can I see you then?”
I look away from him.
It makes no difference because I can feel his eyes on me. It hurts. So much.
