CHAPTER FOURTY          for now

"I don't know how to fix this."

I DON'T SLEEP but a couple hours, but I wake up warm. It's the first thing I notice- heat pressed against my back, an arm holding me in place, the slow rise and fall of a breath that's not mine. Joe. He's here. I'm here. And I don't deserve to be.

My eyes trace the pattern of shadows across the ceiling as I listen to him breathe. Slow and steady- in and out, in and out. It's the only thing I can do as I try to piece together yesterday. It's blurry and rough around the edges, but the pain in my hands and the weight in my chest wouldn't dare let me forget.

I glance over my shoulder, just far enough to see him. His face is relaxed in sleep, in the way I've always loved- mouth parted, lashes brushing his cheeks. Something twists in my stomach.

I hurt him.

Not just last night, when I showed up on his doorstep like a storm. I've been hurting him since Josh showed us that article.

I swallow hard as I slip out from under his arm. He stirs slightly but doesn't wake. When my feet touch the floor, the cold reality seeps back in. I know I can't sit in it- I need to do something. I move quietly. The air around me feels thick and heavy- it presses against my chest, suffocating. I'm suffocating.

I crack an egg into the pan, the sharp sound of the shell cracking against the edge echoing in the silence. The heat from the stove swirls around me; I can imagine the sharks from the aquarium, submerged in the water that swirls around them. They float through my mind, giant and steady, movements deliberate, like a memory that never really fades. I can almost feel the cold glass beneath my fingers, or the pressure of the water pushing down on me from all sides. I'm trapped inside the tank too, swimming in never-ending circles. No matter how much I move, it's all the same- one endless loop. I'm not going anywhere.

I guess I never was.

The food is plated. I feel the cold of the tile beneath my feet but my hands are dry from the heat of the water. Maybe from scrubbing too hard. When did I start scrubbing? I blink, and now I'm wiping the counter. Another blink and I'm sweeping the floor. Bathroom- wipe the water-streaked mirror. Straighten the uneven toilet seat. Fix the out of place bath mat. Living room- fluff the couch cushions. Wipe the dusty coffee table. Take out the trash.

There's too much clutter in my head that I can't fix. But I can fix this.

I scrub at the sink, the counters, the floor. Anything I can reach that needs cleaning. Time is slipping through my fingers and I don't bother stopping it. I just keep scrubbing. There's a damned spot right near the counter, a dark scuff that won't come out for anything. My hand aches, but I keep going.

Why won't it come out?

I twist the rag under my fingers and press harder. My heart pounds against my ribs. I just need it out. I need to fix it. I need to fix something.

"Tally?"

His voice doesn't snap me back into reality- I don't register it at first, actually. It was distant, like he was calling for me but I was under the surface. His warm hands on my shoulder is what does.

When I blink, the room shifts back into focus. Joe's crouched before me, his brow furrowed, concern written in the crease between them. My hand tightens on the rag as Joe eases onto the floor to level himself with me. "Hey, what're you doing?"

His question is careful. Like he's afraid I'll break if he speaks too loudly. I don't look up from the scuff- I focus on it, hoping if I stare hard enough it'll go away. I slowly start scrubbing again. I can't look at Joe. If I do, it'll break the glass and I'll drown on floor.

My throat burns. I scrub harder and harder until my fingers are cramping and it physically hurts to continue.

"You're scaring me, Tally."

The rag slips from my fingers. The bottle of cleaner tips over.

The glass shatters and the water drains from around me, leaving me gasping for breath.

"Shayla sent the photos."

Joe doesn't move. I don't wait; everything bursts out.

"She took the photos of us and sent them out. That's how the article happened." I reach for the rag again, desperate to occupy my trembling hand, and press it against the floor. "She told me herself. She was jealous. She wanted me to feel the way she felt."

The words were bitter on my tongue as rush with a shaky breath. "She was jealous of us. Of you. She- she said she wanted love like this. She wanted Ja'Marr to love her the way you love me." Joe's expression darkens- his jaw clenches, hands curl into fists at his knees, and I keep scrubbing.

"And the worst part is I don't even feel bad about what I did."

"What did you do?"

"I broke her shit."

The words come out emotionless. "I tore through her house and broke anything I could get my hands on. Plates, frames, glass. Anything. Everything."

I wet my lips before continuing, afraid to admit to Joe what's weighing on me, but I say it anyway. "And I liked it."

He doesn't say anything. He waits for me to finish, jaw still clenched and eyes still hard. "I liked watching her flinch. I liked watching her stand there, helpless, because that's what she did to me. And that scares me. I don't care, I should care but I just don't."

"Tally..." his voice is so soft, like a sigh. I disregard the rag, pressing the heels of my calms into my eyes with a laugh that sounds more like a sob. "I haven't felt like myself in weeks." I exhale a shaky breath before continuing. "It's like- like I'm watching myself from the outside, like I'm not in my body and I can't get back in."

"The media-" I ball my hands into fists, gasping for air as the words slip through my teeth before I can stop them. "I can't do it anymore, Joe. I can't even leave the apartment without people taking pictures of me, there's articles accusing Josh and I of dating because we were buying cereal together." My finally breaks- my voice cracks, the tears blur my vision. "I can't exist anymore. I hate it. I hate it all." I can't stop it. I want to so bad, but it's too heavy and I'm not strong enough. "I hate myself."

His entire body tenses up and he inhales sharply.

Wrong answer.

I try to backpedal- I shake my head, but the words keep coming and coming. "I hate that I hurt you. I hate that I keep hurting you and that I don't know how to stop it. I don't know how to fix any of this. I don't know how to fix me."

Joe finally exhales with a rough, unsteady sound. He opens his mouth to speak, but the tears fall over and I sob, "I don't wanna be a shark anymore."

A beat of silence.

Joe blinks. "What?"

I bury my face in my hands, my shoulders shaking with each breath. "I don't wanna be a shark."

"Tally, what the hell does that even mean?"

I sob, letting the tears fall down my cheeks and land in my palms. He reaches out, laying a comforting hand on my shoulder. "Baby, I'm trying really hard to understand, but I need you to help me-"

I shake my head with a hiccup. "I c-can't." He drags a hand down his hand. "Jesus Christ," he mutters under his breath, pulling me into his side. I cry harder because I know I sound ridiculous, but I can't bring myself to explain.

Joe sighs, and then carefully- gently- takes my wrists in his grasp and peels my hands from my face. He grabs my face tenderly, forcing me to look at him. "Talullah," he whispers, swiping his thumb under my eyes to catch the stray tears. He scans my face with soft eyes, pressing his lips together. "You don't have to be a shark, okay? And you don't have to do this alone."

I turn to him fully, shyly wrapping my arms around his neck. He pulls me into his lap and lets me bury my face in his neck. His hand moves up and down my back in slow, steady strokes until my sobs slow to hiccups, hiccups to shaky breaths, and shaky breaths into silence.

He brushes his fingers against my cheek. I turn to look at him, vision still slightly blurred from crying. "I'm gonna put out a statement," he says finally, voice quiet and slow. We breathe in synch as he continues rubbing my back. I fully relax into him, letting him talk to me. "About the pictures and us."

I should feel anxious. I should be panicking about everything- what's being said, what the headlines read, what the entire world thinks about me at the moment.

But I don't.

"Are you okay?"

I close my eyes, reaching up to rest my hand against Joe's cheek.

"No."

He nods against my palm like he was expecting that answer. And then, softly, he asks, "Are you safe?"

His question sinks; like a shark that's taken its last breath, empty lungs, sinking to the bottom of the tank. He wants to know if I'm here. If I'm staying.

I lift my head to meet his eyes. "Yeah."

He exhales like he's been holding his breath. "Good."

I reach out to smooth the crease between his brows, but I can't fix the tired set of his mouth. He looks worn out. And I caused it.

I hurt him.

I keep hurting him.

I swallow hard as the guilt settles in my chest. "Joe?" He hums, trailing his hand up to play with the ends of my hair. "I'm sorry." He presses a tender kiss to my temple. "I know."

I want to say more. I want to explain to him, to make a promise, to fix it.

I don't know how.

So I rest my head on his chest, and he holds me. And for now, that's enough.

We sit like this for a while. The sun rises and filters in through the windows, his arms wrapped around me, his breath against my hair. He keeps rubbing slow circles on my back- the quiet strength of him grounds me in a way nothing else can. The warmth of his skin through my shirt, the rise and fall of his chest. I can't figure out if he's real, or just another thing I made up.

My voice is hoarse as I break the silence. "I made breakfast."

"Yeah?" he murmurs a response. I nod against him, even though neither of us care about the food. He doesn't say anything right away- I untangle myself from him, limbs heavy and shaky.

He follows me to the kitchen, hovering like I'll break if he lets me out of his sight. I motion to the display of food- french toast, bacon, eggs, an uneven stack of pancakes. "I don't know if it's any good." The blonde cuts a piece of the pancake off with the fork and eats it. He gives a lopsided smile after he swallows. "This one's a little underdone. But it's fine, Tuls."

He piles a plate high and pours himself a cup of coffee that's cold, if I had to assume. "Come sit with me," he says, pulling out a chair. "Just for a little bit."

I let him guide me to a chair. When I sit, he does too- right beside me, not across.

Neither of us speaks. The sound of the fork scraping the plate fills the quiet; Joe feeds me pieces of the pancake that aren't underdone or burnt and I let him. I trace patterns in the wood grain with my fingertip before exhaling. He glances at me, coffee mug halfway to his mouth. "I don't know what happens now."

He sets the mug down, leaning on his forearms. "With what?" I gesture vaguely around the room as if it could support my answer, "Any of this. With me. You. Us. All of it." I shake my head, refusing to meet his eye because the guilt is eating away at me, and has been for too long. "I feel like I... I broke something, Joe. And I don't know how to fix it."

"You didn't break anything that can't be fixed."

A bitter laugh slips out my lips before I can stop it. "You don't know that."

"I do."

I turn my head enough to meet his eyes. They're tired, but sure. Certain, almost. I have to look away before I swallow the lump growing in my throat. "You're not supposed to say that." He doesn't bother waiting. "Why?"

"Because you're supposed to be mad at me," my words come out breathy. "You should be mad at me, Joe, I came in and messed up everything, and you just keep... keep... being you."

The blonde tilts his head slightly, the corner of his lips curling up. "What's wrong with me being me?"

I shake my head, "Nothing. Everything."

He reaches across the space between us to place his hand on mine. I watch as he wraps his fingers around mine- I don't pull away. I don't want to.

"I don't know how to fix this." My admission is quiet as Joe brushes his thumb over my knuckles, touch featherlight. "You don't have to figure it out right now."

We sit there, hands tangled together, the pressure of everything not nearly as unbearable as it has been as of recently. Suddenly, I'm not circling. I'm just there, floating.

And for now, that's enough.