But that is not to her good.
Rejection does not require reason.
Sayingnodoes not come with an essay.
She needs the basic human right to feel safe telling me no. And I need to notscrew it upjust because Iwantthe dang essay.
It’s a compulsion. A sick, twisted, horrificcompulsion. I need to know my flaws. I need to fix them. I need to be perfect. I need to be…
I need to be enough.
And it is in this exact moment I realize…Clara and I are the same.
We are exactly the same.
My legs cease function as the truth hits me between the brows, and I shoot off my treadmill.
Viktor cusses, hopping off his to reach me in my heap. “Lukas,” he states, crouching while I sit—stunned—on the padded ground. “Are you okay?”
“Am I a people pleaser?” I ask, hollow.
“What?”
I fix my attention on him. “Am I a people pleaser? Does my ego hide the fact I amterrifiedof not making people happy? Does the spectrum of narcissism extend to people pleasing? After all, what is people pleasing if not manipulating someone’s opinion of you. It’s just…softer. Seems more…self-destructive.”
Viktor stares at me. “Lukas, just a few months ago, you made someone piss themselves when you threatened them. If there’s anypeople pleasingin you, it only applies to those you care about.”
“Is that curable?”
Viktor’s eyes narrow. “Is your one good trait of caring deeply for those you love…curable?”
I take offense to that. “I have plenty of good traits. My hair, for instance.”
Unamused, Viktor continues staring at me. “What. Happened?”
Feeding my burning lungs air, I mutter, “I propositioned Clara. She said no. Which is fantastic. But I haven’t slept all night, and I don’t know how to spare her from this feeling of rejection I’m facing when it’s not hers to handle and isn’t conducive to her continued growth in safety.”
“Why did you proposition her?”
My nerves pinch. “Because I—” I cuss. “—wanted to, Viktor. I want Clara. I want her so much it burns and aches and I’m losing my mind worrying she may never want me enough,worryingI’ll let my selfish streak get in the way of giving her what sheneedsbecause of what I—” I swear. “—want.”
“What does she need?”
“A friend,” I snap, and air pours from me. “She needs a friend, Viktor… Someone who stands by her, supports her, protects her. She needs a friendship like what Crisis and Crimson have. An unbeatable bond that she can rely on. No matter what. When it’s hard to rely on herself, she needs someone who can promise her that she is reliable, because she is so beautiful and impressive and creative and…and stunning.”
“Is that what sheneeds? Or is that just the kind of bond you’d like to have with her?” my rotten brother asks, voice indecipherably level. “I think we both know that whatever Crisisand Crimson have is borderline obsessive and co-dependent—exactly the kind of thing you crave.”
I roll my eyes, because he’s an idiot.
What Iwantis to put her on my piano and tell her to play my body like its keys. What Iwantis for this burning need to own her to go away, or get so strong it kills me. What Iwantis for her to look at me the way Crisis looks at Crimson—with nothing but selfless adoration and stable tranquility. Yeah. No, duh, I’m the one whocravesthat kind of a bond. Screw what Clara needs. I can barely see past my selfishness on a good day, and I haveneverwanted anything this badly. “I don’t know,” I whisper.
All I know right now is that I shouldn’t be congratulating myself for not turning her on her stomach, pinning her hands above her head, and making her ask for me in spite of herno. I gave her the bare minimum. I don’t deserve an award.
I just can’t get the picture of how she would have crumbled so easily had I pressed even for a moment out of my head. I regret doing the right thing.
I sicken myself.
“You are not a good person,” Viktor tells me, star brothering. “None of us are. But youaregood at communicating.”
