“I don’t want to,” I shoot back.
A pause. And then I meet her eyes, which is a big fucking mistake. Big, glassy, fuckingdoe eyesthat used to be my favorite thing to look at. Now all they do is piss me off.
I look away and press the cotton to her palm. She winces, biting her lip.
“Hurts?” I ask bitterly.
“No,” she lies and I have to laugh.
“Still a shitty liar,” I mutter.
Her lips twitch like she might say something. But she doesn’t. I hold her hand steady as I work, tweezers sliding into the wound. She hisses softly as I pull the first shard free.
“I should let it get infected,” I say, letting out my anger toward the situation. “Let you figure it out the hard way.”
“Then why don’t you?” Her voice cuts through the air like glass. Trying to be braver than she feels, I know her well enough to know she’s scared right now.
I glance up, her chin’s tilted high, but her eyes are anything but steady. She’s trembling.
“Because I’m not like you,” I snap. “I don’t pretend to care and then rip someone’s world apart without blinking.” She flinches. Just barely. But I see it.
“I never wanted to?—”
“Don’t.” My voice drops. My fingers freeze mid-motion. “Don’t youdarestart that sentence.” I can’t hear it from her again that she had no choice. She had a choice, no matter what was happening I would have helped her through it, I would have figured something out.
Silence, that’s all I get back from her.
I exhale through my nose and focus back on her hand. I hate that I still know every inch of her skin. I hate that I notice the bruise on her wrist from Leo before anyone else did. I hate that I’m kneeling in front of her like Igive a shitwhen I’m supposed tohate her.
But I do give a shit.
And I hate myself for it.
“You were always so careful with life, always lived in your book world.” I’m not really talking to her but just saying what's on my mind.
“Yeah, well.” Her voice is small. “I thought I had someone who’d always catch me.”
I go still.
Iwasthat someone.
Until she destroyed me.
Until I spent my eighteenth birthday sitting in a jail cell being called a rapist for touching the girl Iloved.
I press the final bandage onto her palm, maybe a little harder than necessary.
“You’re lucky I didn’t kill him,” I say, standing. My fists still throb from hitting Leo.
“Why didn’t you?” she asks, and the question makes me pause. It’s almost as if she wants me to kill him.
“I don’t know.”
That’s a lie. I do know. Because she would’ve looked at me like I was a monster and no matter how much I want to make her hurt the way I did, I still can’t stomach the thought of her being afraid of me.
I throw the bloodied napkin in the trash and snap the first aid kit shut. She’s watching me, eyes studying every move like she’s trying to memorize me. Like she stillwantsto know me.
Too late.
