Page 38 of Brutal Titan

Elliot

Everything had been going fine. I’d stayed away from her all week. My mere existence had been enough to taunt her, so I’d backed off, fearing I wouldn’t be able to contain myself around her after the dreadful show to interrupt her date last weekend. Asher seemed to buy my story about how I suddenly found myself with a reservation at the same restaurant, but thanks to the showdown in the hallway today, he’s less than convinced that nothing is going on. His heated gaze is still fixated on me, waiting for answers I’m not sure I fully comprehend.

“What happened? I know it involved Quinn, but I want to know what was said that you made a scene over and had my sister running off in tears.”

“She was defending Quinn and Allison was being herself—a bitch.” Truth, but what I was still confused by was Victoria’s reaction to Allison saying someone else was screwing “my side piece,” no doubt referring to Victoria. I’m certain that nothing happened but normally, Victoria would retort with an equally snarky comeback, not lunge for Allison then break down in tears afterwards. And I kind of feel bad for holding her back since clearly something struck a raw nerve with her, because she doesn’t resort to fighting … like I do. It just doesn’t make sense for her to have such a heated reaction to Allison’s statement. I don’t want to believe there’s a reason behind it, but if there is, I want to know. From the way Grant had her pinned against the locker and the fear in her eyes, I worry there is something she isn’t telling me. What I can’t do is explain any of it to Asher because it’s all tied to the disastrous day I first kissed her.

“That’s it?”

“Yep. Allison was spewing lies to Quinn, trying to convince her that you were doing the nasty with her of all people, then Victoria and I called her out, so she was pissed at all of us.” I know throwing in the fact that Allison wanted Quinn to believe they were screwing should distract him and it does just enough that he stops questioning, but still doesn’t seem convinced that’s the full story. I can relate.

“Did Grant put her up to it?”

“Don’t think so.” The weasel has been scarce since our locker room run-in, but I wouldn’t put anything past him. “I think it was just Allison being herself, but I’m guessing she will back off of Quinn now that she knows she’s full of BS.” Much like myself.

He nods his head, stiffly walking out of the room. I don’t know where he’s going but I’m glad to be done answering questions. I have so many of my own that I don’t know which to ask first, so I do what I do best—grab a bottle of whiskey, turn it up, smother out coherent thoughts.

It’s working well, as I find myself at her door, looking in to find it empty. Heading downstairs, I search around but she’s nowhere to be found until I hear the shouts coming from outside.

Asher yells at Victoria, asking her what’s going on and something about lying to him.

Victoria stands firm, her face unwavering as she screams back, “Nothing is going on. Allison is a bitch. End of story.”

Looking unconvinced, Asher scurries off in a huff. Victoria retrieves her phone, clicking away on the screen, her mask of resilience slipping by the second. Once I spot her wiping her cheeks and the tears streaming down her face, I’m out the door, not caring who sees me. I have to check on her. Tell her everything is going to be fine because sometimes I’m not so sure myself.

Catching sight of me heading in her direction, she rushes past, but I reach out, clasping her forearm, pulling her to me as my body craves to touch every part of her, inside and out, even when she looks to me with pure hatred. “Let go of me. Now.”

My hand releases her, but her heated gaze remains intent on me.

“I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“You’ve done more than enough to make sure I’m miserable so do not pretend to care about me being okay now.” She stomps away as I watch her disappear into the house.

“But I do,” I whisper, aching to follow her. If I do, I’ll probably make it worse; but if I don’t, I’m just like him.

Dashing through the house, I catch up to her as she steps into her bedroom. My hand slams against the solid door, obstructing it from closing as she glares at me. “Go away.”

“Are you okay?”

“You’re unbelievable!” Her arms fly up into the air as the door opens, she quickly spins facing away from me. Her voice is strained and her shoulders shake with a quiet sob that rips clear through my soul. “Please, Elliot. If you care anything about me, just leave me alone.”

I should leave her alone. But I can’t.

“He never asked if she was okay.” The words spill from my mouth, feeling like they belong to someone else.

“What?” she asks impatiently, spinning around with an exasperated expression.

Stepping to her, I cup her cheek against my palm as my thumb wipes her tear-stained skin. “My dad. He’d see my mom crying, sobbing uncontrollably, and he’d just walk away. He wouldn’t ask her if she was okay … and sometimes I wouldn’t either. I knew the next morning she would wake up and be back to her normal self, smiling and cheerful. I didn’t know it was a mask. I thought she was okay.”

Her eyes close as she leans into my palm, taking a deep breath. “It wasn’t your fault, Elliot.”

“I should’ve asked. I shouldn’t have walked away from her.”

“Stop. Stop blaming yourself. There’s no way you could’ve known.” Her eyes slowly open, a tear streaming down her cheek. “I was with her just as much and I didn’t see it.”

My thumb brushes across her cheek, wiping the fallen tear from her skin. “Are you okay?”

“Yes.”

Searching her eyes, I see sympathy, remorse looking back. That’s not what I wanted. My hand drops from her face as I turn to walk away.

“Are you okay, Elliot?”

“Yep,” I respond, not looking back.

“Elliot, wait.” Her words stop me, but I still can’t turn to see that look on her face. And I don’t have to because she steps around me, the expression I’d been avoiding manifested in front of me, blocking the path to the door.

“I’m fine. Save your pity for someone who needs it.”

“It’s not pity.”

“Sure it’s not.” Reaching around her, I pull the door open, and she finally moves to the side.

I’m fine. I’m good. I just wanted to make sure she was okay, but she turned it around on me, twisted it to a pity party. I resume my roll, bottle in hand, as I plaster a smile on my face. I’m anything but okay, I still don’t understand my mom’s decision, and I’m not sure I want to because I might be part of what pushed her to it. Tilting the bottle back, I escape the only way I know how but quickly decide it’s my last drink for the night. If I get too far gone, I’ll have a harder time resisting what I’m already longing to do—return to her. When Asher huffs back into the room, giving me a blank stare, I smile the smile everyone believes is real as I hold the bottle up in the air. He sits next to me, snatching it out of my hand without a word. And I’m grateful. The faux-happy smile I can do. The words to back it up are out of the question.