CHAPTER 27

I know I said I don't want to know who in Hayden's family has a mental illness – and I still don't – but God, I'm curious.

How did Hayden learn to sit with such intense episodes of depression? No one in my family has ever just . . . stayed with me like this.

I refuse to release his hand from mine. He doesn't seem to mind. He finds us a spot near the water's edge underneath a willow tree. The drooping branches provide a kind of seclusion that I desperately need while I'm out in the open like this. If there are other people around, we can't see them.

Hayden drops to the ground, pulling me with him. The tree trunk serves as a backrest.

I keep his hand trapped in mine for a long time. He lets me. The water, making its way to whatever destination, provides us with a soundtrack I can handle. It's a soft, gentle sound that doesn't grate at my ears and doesn't make me want to crawl out of my skin. I can manage this.

Finally, Hayden slips his fingers from mine and reaches for the hotdogs. He turns his body to mine. I wish I could just fucking turn this body of mine and face him too. He breaks off a piece of the hotdog and puts it into his mouth. I watch him. He breaks off another piece and holds it out to me.

If I ever met a man like Hayden, I would marry him. I would work so fucking hard to stay well, so I could make him proud. I take the piece of hotdog from him and put it into my mouth, chewing slowly.

He swallows his bite, breaks off another piece and puts it into his mouth. Holds out another piece for me. I chew a little faster so I can take the next piece from him.

We watch the water, listening to its ripples and the birdsongs I haven't noticed until now. Hayden breaks off more pieces of the hotdogs. A bite for him. A bite for me. I chew with intention to keep up with him. He brings out a bottle of water, takes a sip and then hands it over to me. I take a sip.

For someone looking in from the outside, it must be the most mundane way to spend one's time. To me, it's a gift. Hayden's silent presence is a gift no one has ever given me before. Never before has anyone ever just sat with me like this.

He's brought me to a place where I can just be. Where the noise on the inside can quiet down. For the first time in a long time, I can hear the chirp of a bird. The sound is able to reach my ears because the noise inside my head has quieted.

Hayden knows how to bring the quiet. He knows how to just be. Here, now, for the first time, I have someone who expects nothing from me.

You're making it through, he told me at the apartment. Not you made it, or you will make it. He spoke as if I'd accomplished something. Like, making it through, minute by minute, hour by hour, is an accomplishment. As if the present moment, in all its ugliness and unsafety, is still worth something. That I'm still okay, even at my lowest.

Here, there's no judgment. No time limit. No, can you just get over it? or fake it till you make it, or smile and it"ll make you feel better.

We must've been watching the water for an hour when I finally find the courage to speak without the fear that I'll cry.

"I'm sorry," I tell him quietly.

Again, he says, "I know."

"I'm such a burden. You must have a million things to do."

"You're not a burden."

I fight through the urge to gulp down his words and let them ferment in my soul. "You shouldn't have—"

"The world won't burn to the ground if I don't get my millions of things done today." His voice is soft, gentle.

I'm so greedy for the newness of all of this. There is an unconditional acceptance of me here that I've never experienced before. But why? How?

"I can stay with you here like this, Levi. I can sit with you in the silence," Hayden says.

My soul cracks under the weight of these tender words. "He was so lucky—" I blurt before I can stop myself.

Hayden stares at me curiously.

I feel cornered, so I finish. "Nicholas. He was lucky to have you."

Hayden's eyes morph from curiosity to just . . . nothing. I've known this man for nearly four months. I've had sex with him. It feels like I've known him forever and not at all, all at once.

"He seemed so perfect for you," I say.

That gets me a raised eyebrow. "How would you know?" His voice is neutral, soft, but his eyes . . .

"Sorry. I know not to believe everything online. It's just . . ." I would've stopped talking had it not been for the spark of interest in his eyes. "I saw a few videos online. It's just that he seemed so put-together. So in-charge of his world. It's clear in every picture and video how perfect he was for you." So not like me.

Hayden doesn't comment. Instead, he hands me a notebook and a pencil from his satchel. "Draw something," he tells me.

I take the notebook and pencil from him. "What do you want me to draw?"

"Something that makes you happy."

I laugh lightly. "Really?"

He nods.

Man, do I have news for him. "Nothing makes me happy," I say. Except you.

"Okay, draw something that might make you happy if you had it."

I don't have much past experience to reference, so I draw him. Again.

It only takes a few minutes.

He's not mad. At least, that's what I think, because when I reach up to kiss him after, he lets me.

He controls the kiss, and, at first, I'm frustrated by the decency of it all. But then I remember: he's a missionary-style guy, and I decide it's quite alright with me.