The Plus One (A Brush With Love, #3)

by Mazey Eddings

“I’m a bad person because my interest wasn’t in being some global humanitarian, it was purely selfish.” Jude arched his head back, looking up at the sky. He blinked a few times, trying to unscramble the confusing strings of emotions and put them into words. Explain them to Indira. This happened to him a lot lately. Trying to think would wrap his brain into knots, impossible to unravel. His mind used to be so agile, seeing steps ahead in conversations or action. Now, it seemed incapable of even completing the simplest of processes.

You’re put into impossible situations and all you can do is your best.” “My ‘best’ resulted in people dying, Indira. How can I ever forgive myself for that? How can I ever erase the idea that I inserted myself into situations I wasn’t ready for, when someone else, someone more capable, could have been doing the job?” Indira’s eyes flicked across his face. “I don’t understand what that means,” she said, a certain helplessness to her voice. Jude fisted his hands in his hair. Fuck. Why was talking so hard? “It’s like, I applied for this program, right? I submitted an application for the spot; I went through interviews. I painted the best version of myself to review boards for the sole purpose of getting money for school. Not for helping. Not for saving people. But to avoid all this debt. To unburden myself from a loan payment every month. But who’s to say I didn’t steal the spot from someone more capable? Someone who could have actually saved all these people? How am I supposed to live with myself when my shortcomings could be the reason people no longer exist?” Great, Jude was crying again. Indira chewed on her lip. “Jude, have you ever talked to a therapist about all of this?”

“I was young when my dad left. And little kids … they digest the actions of adults and those around them differently—this isn’t a secret.” Indira’s voice was detached, looking back on her childhood self like she would a patient. “And when your mom’s a mess and your brother won’t talk to you and your world feels like it’s crashing down, it’s hard not to find something easy to place blame on. And, like, obviously, I developed these thoughts that maybe if I had been a better daughter or done something different or … been enough, none of this would have happened.” Indira looked at Dr. Koh, soul weary. “And I … I don’t know. I guess I started seeking that approval wherever I could get it. However I could, because maybe then it would prove that I am enough and I’m worth sticking around for.” The silence ticked through the room, and Indira let out a defeated sigh. “I know it’s not a rational thought. Like, I one hundred percent recognize that these fears and this need for extrinsic validation doesn’t determine my worth. But it doesn’t stop me from feeling it.” The problem with being self-aware and introspective while also being, admittedly, emotionally damaged was that Indira could reason through her feelings and their source and how they didn’t serve her, but she also couldn’t stop the ruminating circles of feeling them.

“We place these expectations that being aware of our brain or emotions lying to us means that we should automatically be able to get over it,” Dr. Koh said, eyes locked on Indira. “That’s simply not how it works. We wouldn’t expect someone with asthma to recognize they have asthma and then be able to go and sprint a mile without needing an inhaler. Healing from those internal wounds takes time. Sometimes a lifetime. But it’s the willingness to work on it that matters.”

Jude’s throat started working, opening and closing on words and feelings he couldn’t get out. “I’m scared,” he finally managed, tears rolling down his cheeks. How could he love her wholly, the way she deserved, if he was nothing but a jagged fragment of who he used to be? “I’m really fucking broken,” he admitted, the words ripped from his chest. “I’m not looking to fix you,” she said, staring straight into his eyes. “I’m here to love you.”

You are a mouthpiece for empty promises and I’m done listening.” “Dira, that’s unfair. I’ve tried my best. I know I’m not perfect, I’ll be the first to admit that. But I do try.” Indira’s mouth dangled open. He actually believed that. Her father—the man who had willfully missed it all while he built other trial families—really, truly believed he was doing his best. Finally, finally, it clicked into place. He would never understand how much he’d failed his children. He would never acknowledge the hurt he’d caused them. And yelling or crying or opening herself up to him wouldn’t do anything to change that. Indira didn’t need him. She didn’t need her dad’s approval or his presence or even his love. She didn’t need to chase after the idea of a man who made her work so hard for affection. Indira was worthy of love just as she was. And she needed to start loving herself too, let go of the things that hurt her.

“I need you to know something,” Indira said, cutting him off as he continued to defend himself. “When we hang up this call, I am going to do everything in my power to let you go. I am going to unpack all this shit, week after week. I’m going to sit in therapy sessions and speak truth to what a shitty dad you’ve been. Every broken vow. Every time you left your children wondering why they weren’t good enough for your love. And I am going to heal. I am going to surround myself with people that love me. Cherish me. Know I’m enough. But you? You’re going to get old. And you’re going to go through more wives. Have more kids. And you’ll still end up dying alone, suffocating under the weight of the hurt you’ve caused so many people. And then, I hope, you’ll finally understand.” “Indira—” “Don’t contact me again.”

He’d forgotten that happiness wasn’t a banging, violent emotion like all the others that bombarded him every moment. Happiness was soft. Uneventful. It was holding Indira’s hand. Sitting next to her on the couch and listening to her talk. It was a quiet cup of coffee with her next to him reading a magazine. It was teasing her, being goofy and pretending to pass out after sniffing her feet, making her shriek in outrage and giggle. Happiness was them.