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But I can’t, can’t she see that? I search her face as she frowns. She’s only worried for me, I know that, but she can never know. It’s to protect her, to... protect me. If she found out, she might look at me the same way my mother does, and I cannot survive that. She’s come to mean a lot to me, even if I try to deny it, so as usual, I deflect and pretend everything’s okay so I won’t hurt her.
“Nothing,” I answer and close my eyes. “Let’s sleep, or we could go get high—”
“Blair,” she snaps and sits up, appearing annoyed now. “Why are you here?”
“What do you mean?” I question. “Is this not Chris Hemsworth’s house?” I joke, but she ignores it.
“I mean it. Why come here? Why wake me up if you don’t plan on talking or letting me help?” I see the hurt in her eyes and lick my lips. I’m not ready to deal with this. I’m still raw, I can’t deal with anything else, so I shut down like always.
“Sorry, I’ll go.” I quickly get to my feet, and she follows.
“That’s not what I meant!” she yells in annoyance and scrubs at her bedhead as I turn to look at her. She’s standing in some tiny shorts and a crop top, fully awake now... and pissed. She’s never been angry at me before, and I instantly decide I don’t like it. “Why did you come here?”
Maybe it’s the fact I’m tired, emotionally vulnerable, or just don’t want Faye to look at me the same way as everyone else, but I let some of it slip off of my usually controlled tongue.
“I slept with Bray!” I yell and then rub at my own head. “Not in that way, we didn’t fuck. Shit, Faye, he slept in my bed after a run-in with my mother.”
“And? That’s bad how?” she queries, and I throw my hands up.
“Of course this is bad! They’re assholes, idiots, my fucking stepbrothers. You know I don’t do that shit. Disposable dick, remember?”
“Uh-huh, so you’re freaked because they’re getting close?”
“They aren’t getting close,” I snap, pacing as she crosses her arms and watches me.
“Sure they are. They have been since you first met them. They get under your skin; they want you. I see the way they watch you, it’s unlike they’ve ever watched anyone before. Why are you fighting it?” she challenges.
“Because I don’t need them! I don’t need anybody!” I yell and then wince when she staggers back. “That didn’t come out right,” I mutter.
“No? You don’t need anyone? Really? That’s why you’re in my room freaking out? That’s why you came here?” She shakes her head sadly. “Stop lying, Blair, and don’t insult me like that. Don’t tell me the truth, fine, but don’t fucking lie to me. I’m tired of it. I’m tired of only knowing what you allow me to. We’re supposed to be best friends.”
“We are,” I reply lamely.
“You know everything about me, yet I know hardly anything about you. Tell me, Blair, tell me why you run whenever you get close to someone. Tell me why you trusting those boys is a bad thing.”
“I—don’t ask that,” I beg.
She laughs bitterly. “It doesn’t matter, because even if I did, you wouldn’t answer. You never do. You change the subject, or you take us somewhere. You try to make me forget what I was even wondering because it’s easier for you.”
“Look, you’re clearly tired and maybe in a bad mood. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you. I’ll talk to you later,” I say, but she’s not finished. She steps closer, her eyes sad and lips turned down.
“You’re running again,” she points out. “You always talk about not needing someone, Blair, or anyone, but love and friendship aren’t about need. The guards you put up against the world stop the hurt, that’s true, but they also stop the good from getting in. You’re so scared of being let down, of being used and hurt and tossed aside, that you built these walls around yourself. It stops anything from penetrating your heart, but it also stops you from seeing what’s right in front of you.”
“Like what?” I demand.
“Like me! Your best friend, the one you’re losing because you keep pushing me away. Or those men.”
I shake my head, and she steps towards me again, so I step back, and she winces.
“You keep us all at arm’s length because it’s easier for you. Your hyper-independence isn’t a strength, it’s a weakness. It’s something caused by trauma because you think if you never trust again, never let anyone in, then they won’t hurt you. You don’t think you deserve love and believe that everyone will do exactly what you’ve always experienced—hurt you. But you’re wrong, babe.” She wipes at the tears on her cheeks, tears I put there. My heart cracks at her words, at the pain and hopelessness in them, at the acceptance in her eyes. Is that what I’m doing?
Pushing them away before they can hurt me?
And if so, is that such a bad thing?
“You’re wrong, Blair, you’re so wrong about the world. I used to think it was a lonely, fake place, but then I met you. You gave me hope. I’ve been hurt too. I’ve been left and tossed aside. I was so tired of fighting, so tired of being alone, and then you came into my life. You made me laugh and showed me what friendship was... but you still never let me past those walls. It might keep your heart intact, Blair, but it broke mine.” She hiccups in a sob and wraps her arms around herself.
I want to go to her, to make this better, but I don’t know how to. I knew this would happen, I even warned myself, but I still let myself believe it could be different. I got close, which is my own fault, and now she’s the one hurting.
