'enough tears for one night'
Troye’s POV
And he is so silent, so silent.
Jacob has not said a word of what happened, what has now been, nearly five days ago. I do not ask, I do not think it is my place, and I do not think it is my right to know but Christ it is making me so concerned.
When I sit beside him and he does not feel like the person he used to be, a bubbly and cheery young man. He is now stoic and blunt; it scares the living daylights out of me.
No longer is he the person I come home to or the person who greets me each morning and falls asleep beside me each night. In fact, I have not heard his voice much at all these past few days. I text him, he tells me he has too much to do, and in truth, I understand as I too have many things to do but I just need the assurance right now that he is taking care of himself. I am pretty sure that he is not.
I know he is not by the way he is acting and I need to know where I stand, where we stand.
I knock on his door that evening, he takes a while to answer but eventually he does.
“Hi,” I say with a small smile.
“Hey,” he says, he sounds distracted, his voice is raspy like he has been crying. “What you need?” I frown; why does he think I have come here for my benefit? To look for something from him?
“What I need is to be with my boyfriend and know how he is doing,” I say while trying to not get upset. “I haven’t spoken to you properly for what feels like ages.”
He hums noncommittedly. “'m fine,” he tells me, I roll my eyes at his unconvincing tone.
“No you are not, you suck at lying, Jacob,” I walk in, passing him, and then I turn around to face where I know he is standing, I cross my arms while he grunts and shuts the door closed. “You’re basically acting like this whole other person, a person I do not like. It hurts Jacob and you’re scaring me,” I tell him, my frown deepening.
“Don’t get pissy with me,” he says defensively, sounding as if I offended him or wronged him in some terrible way.
“Oh mind me for worrying about my boyfriend. I’m not being pissy I’m just worried.”
“I said that I’m fine, do you understand me? Or should I repeat myself yet again?” he says slowly, as if I am a child that struggles to understand English. He knows how much I hate that. As egotistical as it sounds, when someone tests my intelligence in such a way I tend to get irritated. It feels like a harsh jab at my disability, like a form of pity. I absolutely cannot stand that and he kmows that.
“Don’t speak to me like that, I’m not some child you can patronise,” I growl. “You have been treating me like I am invisible, that hurts. It’s like you don’t trust my help or something. I thought at first it was because you needed some space but really you are just shutting me off completely and I love you too much to allow that to happen. What is going on with you?”
Jacob goes silent; maybe my words had gotten through to him or maybe not at all. But I let go of the harsh tone and try again, much softer and more gentle. I sigh.
“You’re just really starting to stress me out, okay? I just need to know what is going on with you right now and you’re not helping by acting like this.”
“I’m not acting different,” he says defensively and then his demeanour seems to soften around his next words, “I’m fine,” he says softly, too softly, like he is trying to convince himself as much.
