Page 119 of Mistaken Prejudice

“I’m sorry, Andrei.” His voice broke. “I’m so sorry.”

“Shhhh,” I whispered, slightly moving my head to kiss his temple. “Not now.” I felt the tears rolling down my face, only now they were tears of relief. The relief of knowing he was okay. Of knowing I’d be okay.

Ten minutes and a washed face later, we sat outside his room, where he had a small terrace surrounded by olive trees.

It was a bit chilly, but the cold air felt good on my face after I had cried as much as I did just a moment ago.

“So, you know,” he said as he pulled his legs up on the chair and hugged his knees close to his chest.

“I do.”

He nodded as if accepting my answer before he gave me a forced smile.

“Can I ask, since when did you have it?”

“I always ‘had’ it.” He used quotes on the word had, and I felt wrong for asking my question in a probably offensive way.

“If you meant to ask when I was first diagnosed, then when I was fourteen.”

“Oh… I thought…” What did you think, Andrei?

“You thought it was something new? Not at all.” He dragged out his words as he stretched his arms. “It’s a rather funny story. My first manic episode, that is. I left my house in the middle of the night and went to my old riding school. In the spirit of my mania, I decided to free all the horses from their stables and let them run freely. While it made sense for fourteen-year-old Miles, it was dangerous. Someone could have gotten hurt, a horse or a human. Anyway, when the morning came, and my dads couldn’t find me, they informed the police, and after a day of searching, they found me walking around the woods, not far from the stables, butt naked. I was confused and had no memory of what had happened. As I said, funny.

“The therapist who treated me after said that with the right treatment, I could live a normal life alongside my condition and even continue with my sport. What complete bullshit.”

“Miles.” I tried to touch him, but he didn’t lean into the touch, so I dropped my hand.

“It’s okay, Andrei. I know it’s a lot. Finding out your boyfriend, or ex-boyfriend, is practically a lunatic. I’m not trying to guilt you into being with me. I’m just telling you what it’s like.”

“You’re not a lunatic. Don’t say that about yourself. You’re dealing with a mental disorder. There’s no shame in that, and it doesn’t change anything.”

“But it does.” He cut into my words. “It changes everything.”

“How?” I argued, and when he stayed silent, I continued, “You’re still you. You’re still brilliant and perfect, and now I understand why you acted the way you did. You had a manic episode, right? I read about it, I read a lot, to understand better. To understand you better.”

He looked away from me and tightened his arms around his knees.

“I hate that word.”

“Which word?” I asked, confused.

“Perfect.”

He pressed his palms together, and with his eyes closed, he took a deep breath. “I hate it because I’m not perfect, Andrei. I’m not.” He got up from the chair and walked toward the olive tree beside us. Once again, he was with his back to me while he examined one of the tree’s branches, softly tracing the leaves with his fingers.

“It’s one of the reasons I didn’t tell you about me.”

“Why?” I asked, still sitting down, unable to move.

“Because from the start, you had that false image of me. Thinking I was this perfect prince while I wasn’t. I was afraid that if you knew, you’d just leave.”

“So you kept it away from me? Miles, I would have never done that.” I got up and moved to stand next to him, forcing him to look me in the eyes. “Besides, when I say you’re perfect, I mean that to me, you are perfect.”

“It’s not just what you said or meant, Andrei. It’s the way you treated me. Doing what I wanted, always looking at me with those adoring eyes like I was some sort of a miracle. I loved it, I still do, but I knew it would end at one point, and that freaked me out.”

Ouch. What was he saying?

“So it’s because of me? What happened was my fault?”