Oh god, you know things are bad when Park of all people corners you and demands you get your shit together. I mean, he didn’t exactly demand it so much as aggressively advise me and didn’t completely use those words either, but the message was loud and clear.
Have I really made that much of a mess, these last few weeks? (Am I still a mess? I thought I was better than that, now…)
What really hurts is knowing all this comes from a place that cares—not about me, I’ve accepted my position on his Least Favorite Person’s list—but Perry. I really wanted to be the one to guide an emotional breakthrough, not cause one because I…or whyever it is he thinks I’ve been distant.
Yes, I’m inventing words now. It’s fine.
I can’t get the last thing Park said to me out of my head, either:
“I won’t pretend I understand what everyone here sees in you, but this isn’t about me and for once it’s not about you. That man in there took us under his wing when others would’ve let us drown in this hellhole. The least you can do now is make sure he keeps his head above the water.”
He was frighteningly close as he spoke, and I was honestly a little concerned he was going to hit me. I probably deserve that, at this point.
When Park finally stepped back, I saw something other than vicious determination in his eyes. Something I didn’t recognize.
“I can tell he wishes it were you, treating him,” he said. Then he paused. “Perry’s days are numbered, J.D. Do you really want to add to your list of regrets while there’s still time to fix this?”
He walked away before I could think of an answer. Truthfully, I’m still struggling. It’s not because I don’t want to let the past go. I do, god damn it. More than anything. Maybe…maybe I’m afraid—still afraid, after all this time. Maybe it’s easier to hang onto your pain than speak it out loud and hope it doesn’t set whatever bridge you’re trying to cross ablaze.
I don’t know. Damn it, I still don’t fucking know.