“We’ll figure this out,” he said.
I raised a brow. “You’re not mad that I’m dropping out of school?”
He shook his head. “I figured it wasn’t your thing.”
“Then why pressure me to do it?”
“We had to start somewhere.”
We ate in silence for a few minutes, Grant standing in the kitchen while I ate at the bar stool. I ruminated over those words:We’ll figure this out.
‘We,’ as in the two of us. This wasn’t about me anymore.
“Do you mean it?” I asked. He gazed at me, not saying anything. Was he confused or choosing not to answer? I could never tell with his stares. So I explained. “You said ‘we’ll figure this out.’ Does that mean you want to help me?”
“I always have.”
“But you want to listen to me. To figure it outwithme. That’s different.”
He nodded. A flushing warmth filled me, crawling up my stomach. He was on my side. He wasn’t going to force me into a box that fit him best. We were going to figure this out together.
My phone dinged. SeeingUnknown Numberon the preview made my stomach drop. Grant leaned over the counter, peering at what bothered me.
A picture of Heather and me talking at Pretty Lush. Heather’s disgusted expression while I looked away. My heart raced in my chest. I read the message:The only person who loves you, and you don’t listen, do you? You should be groveling. Begging for her love. You don’t deserve it.
Another text:Zaid should have kept you in the cells. Your sister would have been better off without you.
I closed my eyes, clutching the phone in my hand. A ringing sound consumed my mind, drowning everything out. All I could do was think about was those texts. That my sister would be better off without me was an idea that cut straight to my core. I had always thought that. Maybe I should never have asked her for help that night, back in the cage. I should have told her to leave. She could have escaped. Then she wouldn’t be getting married to Zaid.
Grant must have said something, but I couldn’t hear him. I felt him pull the phone out of my hands, then pull me off of the stool. I opened my eyes, but it was like I was watching myself. He guided me to the stairs. When I didn’t move, he picked me up, carrying me, saying things, fuzzy words in my ears, as if we were underwater. His voice muffled.
You can protect yourself.
Your sister loves you.
You’re not a burden.
You’re a gift.
Those last words broke through the tinny noise. Everything came into focus. We were in the workout room. Mirrors scattered throughout. Black padded walls and cushions. I stared back at my reflection. In that stupid blouse.
I turned to Grant. He was across the room. “What did you say?” I stammered.
Grant moved a squat rack and huffed. “Knowing you has been a gift,” he said. He groaned, then wiped his hands on his pants.
A gift?
“I’m not a pain in the ass?” I asked.
“You’re a pain,” he said quietly. But then he smiled, and I knew what he meant. “Fight me.” How could I do that at a time like this?
“I can’t.”
“Channel it. Your fear. Your anger. Your passion.” He took a step forward, and I looked up at him. “There’s a hearth burning inside of you, Hazel. Use it.”
It should have felt good that he said those things. Like my anarchic attitude was a positive quality for once. Something I should be proud of. Using it to my advantage.
But I didn’t know what to do. Where could I begin? How could I propel myself forward when all I could think about was that the stalker was right? My sister would be better off with a sister who supported her choices. Who didn’t always drag her down.
