“We’ve been fighting every night the past three nights,” he notes, solemnly, I see a terrible sadness on his face that causes me to physically… ache.

Because its the kind where even his eyes are sad, and he’s never sad. He’s that kind.

“We don’t fight,” I argue back, helplessly.

“Okay, well, we’ve had issues the last three nights. I’m not trying to make you feel bad. I’m just noticing… and wondering where its coming from… I’m trying to pinpoint it,” he looks at me, finally. “I’m not trying to make you feel bad,” he repeats, confidently.

The first night, we were talking on the phone on the four hour drive he was taking to school. He yelled at me until he began to cry. Because I was pushing myself too hard and not eating and it upset him greatly.

I didn’t blame him for that.

The second night, we were talking until late and I noticed he was tired, and I was internally feeling bad about some things. Just generally overwhelmed. So he asked me what’s wrong. “Nothing baby, I don’t want to stress you. I can handle it,” I told him.

“No, tell me,” he insists more, paying full attention now.

“Babe, its no big deal.”

He got greatly upset. And he decided to turn it into some big, big deal.

He pauses. “I am… incredibly hurt.” He admits, hoarsely.

“Are you sure you want to be with me, Ems?” He asks in a stern tone.

I said nothing, crying inside already.

“Because when I was driving with my friend today, she said, so your life is about to start huh? And I told her how you’re moving here and we’ll probably get married two or three years after graduation.”

He doesn’t look at me, but stares straight ahead. “But you, my future wife, you won’t even tell me what’s on your mind… when we usually deal with everything together.”

He’s right. I felt so bad. He never made my personal issues a problem. We always dealt with everything together. Even when we realized I had an unhealthy, unstable relationship with food. He just said, “dont worry. we’ll get through this together.”

But will we always be together?


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