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“I heard what your friend, Ben, told you,” I say. “Maybe you’re not my knight in shining armor, after all? You’re just trying to distract yourself from your own problems.”
He scoffs, eyeing the floor. “That so?”
“Was he in your gang?” I wonder, aimlessly probing for a nerve to strike. He stiffens—I’ve hit the jackpot. “Let me guess. You were some kind of bigshot and then got busted. Now you atone for your sins by taunting suicidal women out of jumping from bridges.”
“Something like that.” He sighs, shaking his head. “But being in charge ain’t all it’s cracked up to be.”
“Tell that to Father.”
“Damn, girl. You’ve got daddy issues, alright.”
“What does that even mean?”
He faces me head-on, his eyes piercing. “It means that a guy could get the wrong idea.”
He keeps saying that.
“Maybe,” I admit. “If this was some cheesy afterschool special.”
Not that I’m an expert in those. I wasn’t allowed to watch cable at home, and my only experience in popular dramas came from gossip or whatever movies I caught while out with friends. Even after I graduated, my diet of pop culture has been sparse.
Drawing on the knowledge of those plots, I try to play along. “Is this the part where you tell me that I’m the prettiest girl you’ve ever seen, and that we should get out of here and go somewhere private—”
“To do what?” he says innocently, rubbing his chin. He reaches out and thumbs the golden cross hanging from my neck. “Read a Bible?”
“To, well...” I shrug him off and sigh. “Colton calls it ‘holding hands.’”
I wince for a multitude of reasons. I’ve never felt anything for Colton, and a part of me has always wondered why Father can’t see that. Why in his mind, we’re together. He’s already jumped to the obvious conclusion that we’ll be married by the year’s end despite no announcement on my part. Although, after he dismissed Hale’s feelings so easily, I’m starting to wonder if Father has ever truly cared about us at all.
Whatwewant.
“Interesting.” Daze’s voice drops an octave. “Who’s Colton?”
“Nobody,” I stammer. “He’s nobody.”
“Well, I’ve got a psychotherapy question for ya,” he proposes, crossing his arms. “What’s more self-destructive,FreylieFrey? Killing yourself or spilling your guts out to a stranger?”
“Spilling my guts,” I admit. “I’m not used to talking to anyone. Not like this.”
Except maybe Hale, once upon a time.
“Not even your boyfriend, Colton?” he prods.
“It’s not what you think. He’s not my boyfriend. I mean, Colton is beautiful and nice, and perfect. But we aren’t together. I’m just expected to end up with him. I don’t have any say.”
It sounds so strange when spelled out. Daze’s bemused smirk confounds my unease.
“I was wrong,” he says softly. “You have more than just Daddy issues. It sounds like you have ‘Colton’ issues, too. And what am I? The big bad monster you play with for a little while before running back to their safe harbor?”
“I didn’t ask you to save me,” I snap. Then my ears burn as my word choice echoes in an endless loop.
Save me. Save me.
“I’m not complaining,” he says. “Use me all you want. I’ll be your monster.”
The words should sound mocking. In his grated monotone, they just sound…
Like a plea.
