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“I have bipolar disorder,” I said as we walked. “And it flared up a lot around my senior year. I held it together by a thread and did my best until the man I loved dumped me for someone else.”
Wyatt stopped, his face pulled into a scowl. I expected him to tell me to leave him and Theo out of my craziness. Instead, he shook his head. “That guy? The fucking hipster at the restaurant?”
“How did you?—”
“He looked at you—and me—as if he owned you. Men know these things. Shit.Hedumpedyou?”
“He told me I was broken, incapable of love, and everything else. I am sure I was a mess, but he wasn’t helping. The gaslighting was immense. I could never be what he wanted—not musically gifted, hip, or thin enough. None of it. He has a whole aesthetic. While I loved him, he loved it more than me.”
“Oh, Odie, I’m so sorry,” Wyatt took my hand.
I pulled mine back. Initially, it was because it was muscle memory—no PDA in the street. Then, I was just worried he was about to hurt me.
“Are you okay?” Wyatt stopped.
“We’re in public—in the street,” I said. “You can’t do that.”
“Oh, okay.”
“I’m sorry.” I shook my head. “I’m proving that dating me is arduous, dangerous, and awful. So, I’m just?—”
I spun around, about to leave, when he pulled me back towards him, ignoring my warning and wrapped me up in the biggest kiss. Ifmy detail didn’t wish me dead before, they did now. I was helpless to resist him. His lips felt as soft ever. His hand, firmly on my back, drew me close in a way that made my hips cling to his in this desperate way. I wanted him to throw me against the city wall and have me here.
Wyatt pulled back. “I’m American, and I don’t listen to a damn thing because I don’t have to.”
He chuckled and ran his finger across my lower lip as if observing me like a painter might a subject—taking in every detail of me in this low light.
“I don’t know why you bother with me or why it works, Odette, other than you are an old soul and the kindest person. I could spend all my nights talking with you. And what you just said… I’m sorry. No fucking wonder what I did felt awful. I apologise. I should have been mature and told you I needed a beat to get my feelings in check.”
I nodded. “But I got sick. I’m telling you that I’m not perfect.”
“Odette, nor am I.” His hand caressed my cheek. “I am imperfect as can be. Would it surprise you that I ended up in a deep depression after Isla died and went to therapy for two years?”
“I… I appreciate you trying to make me feel better, but this is a lifelong…”
I sputtered and grasped for words that made sense. The look in his eyes was pure, sweet, and without judgment. I could tell him all the awful things—the hard truths, the heartbreaks, and the worries—but I sensed he’d not hear any of it. There was an openness here with him I didn’t expect.
“I’d like to kiss you again,” Wyatt said. “But I’m not supposed to.”
“We shall walk faster then!” I laughed, pulling back ahead.
I wiped the tears from my eyes and carried on. Wyatt was a big boy, as Elisa said. If he felt up to caring about me, why should I fight him?
46
DISASTER AND DISORDER
WYATT
All I wanted to do when I returned home was take Odette to bed. Soon after arriving from Cologne, I’d made sure to pick up a box of condomsjust in case. After last week’s implosion, I’d not expected to use them so soon. But staring at her in the moonlight on the street, I knew this was what I wanted. I needed to suck it up, be honest, and go to that wedding. I couldn’t fight it. My feelings for her were real. I wanted to run her up the stairs as soon as we entered the foyer.
We kissed like teenagers, throwing our coats on the ground rather than bothering to hang them. I don’t know what came over me. Soon, I had Odette pinned to the wall, loving how her body felt pressed against mine. She moaned into my mouth and parted her legs slightly. Muscle memory overcame both of us. Shewantedme to have her, and I wanted to devour her in a way I hadn’t any woman since Isla. Animal attraction overcame me.
“I want to go to the wedding,” I said.
“Okay,” she panted.
I realised the wedding was theleastof her worries. This wasn’t about a simple invite. This was actual interest in me—in somethingreal with me.