*went to Kaylee's*
*where are you?*
*seriously I'm worried where are you?*
"Are you fucking kidding me?" I mutter under my breath as I get into the uber home. Derek went to Kaylee's parents' house after I told him that I'd spent the evening with her? What the hell? This is weird, controlling behavior and not something he's ever done before. Not something I'd thought he'd ever do.
The whole drive, my stomach is in knots, my thumbs hovering over the screen of my phone, unsure of what to say to him. He can't possibly think this is okay, right?
In the end, I don't reply at all. I leave him on read until I'm in front of our door where I hesitate, the sick feeling in my body expanding like noxious fumes, pressure building in my chest. Am I afraid of him now? Is that what's happening?
The moment I stick my key into the lock, the door is opened from the inside and there is Derek, staring at me, his expression unreadable. His hair is slightly mussed, like he's been running his hands through it over and over again and he's still wearing the same gray sweatpants and flannel shirt he had on this morning. My stomach swims with nausea at the sight of him.
"Where were you?" His voice is low but taut, like he's holding himself back from shouting. He looks at me, and even in the dim light, his eyes glint with unnerving intensity. There's some relief but also an anguish that makes my skin prickle.
"I told you," I say, setting my bag down carefully by the door. "I was meeting Kaylee for dinner."
His phone sits on the coffee table, screen dark and ominous. I imagine him typing out the texts he bombarded me with, then waiting for me to reply which I never did. Now, guilt mixes with the unease curling in my chest.
Derek shakes his head abruptly, running a hand through his hair yet again. "I went to her parents' house," he says, his words tumbling out quickly. He's breathless with frustration. "When you didn't answer anymore, I thought maybe you'd gone there. They said you weren't—" He stops himself, mouth twisting in displeasure, hands gesturing helplessly. "I just… I didn't know where you were."
"I can't believe you went to her parents' house," I tell him, trying to keep my voice steady. I'm both outraged and plain weirded out. "Derek, that's—why would you do that? I wasn't ignoring you. I texted you I'd have my phone off during dinner. I just wanted to spend some time with my best friend."
"You didn't tell me how long you'd be gone," he says, stepping closer. He towers over me. I'm painfully aware of how much taller and stronger he is compared to me. In all our time together, I never thought about that physical difference the way I am now. "You didn't say anything. Skye, I can't—I can't just sit here and not know where you are."
I take a small step back, my hand gripping the doorknob. Some part of me starts to consider flight and I'm startled at myself. This is my fiancé, the man I consider my home.
"I wasn't far. You didn't need to—"
"I *did* need to," he interrupts, his voice breaking slightly. He takes a breath, his expression softening as he reaches for my hand. "Skye, I—I just… I couldn't stop thinking about you. I missed you. I missed you so much it hurt."
The words, so fervent and raw, send a chill down my spine. This is what I wished for, isn't it? For him to love me, to need me? But this… this isn't love. Not the way I imagined it. This is obsession. He acts like I've been gone for months when it's been hours.
His gaze locks onto mine, pleading, desperate, the way it was last night and I feel like we're teetering on the edge of... what? Of becoming a dateline story? The thought makes my skin crawl.
"I'm fine, Derek," I say quietly, pulling my hand away. "I just needed some space to breathe, okay? There's way too much going on with us..."
He stares at me, his jaw tightening, and for a moment I think he's going to be an asshole about this. But then he nods, stepping back.
"Yeah. It's been... it's been a lot. I'm sorry." To my shock, I see a glint of wetness in his eyes. He blinks and there are tears, tiny droplets clinging to his lower eyelashes.
"Skye, I know I messed up," he whispers, "but you said you'd forgive me. When you didn't come home, I thought you changed your mind, that you might be leaving for good."
I study him, try to assess his state of mind the way a doctor might despite my lack of medical training. All my knowledge comes from old episodes of Grey's Anatomy, but I'm pretty sure the man in front of me is either a very good actor or going through a serious mental breakdown of some kind.
One thing I do know for sure: I've never seen Derek like this. Even during the worst times with his dad in the hospital when it looked like he might not make it, Derek teared up maybe once.
"I'm not leaving," I reassure him. "But I'm struggling with what happened."
Seeing his tears, witnessing his strange behavior, I realize that this is the moment to face my fears. If I want to move forward, I can't keep running from the truth and with Derek vulnerable like this, perhaps it's time to get the truth. Even if it's painful, even if it might destroy us.
I need it. Otherwise I'll never stop wondering.
I brace myself for resistance, for an all out fight. Then I say, as evenly as I can manage:
"Derek, you have to tell me about Emily. I need to know how it started, how far it went, everything."