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I give a tight smile to everyone as I walk across the room to the kitchenette. Opening up the cabinet, I only count three glasses.Shit.Then I remember there’s one in the bathroom.
“Excuse me,” I say, crossing the roomagain,feeling like a fool pacing back and forth. I climb the steps and go straight to the bathroom. I pick up the cup by the sink like it’s the holy grail and—Jesus Christ!
Finn appears in the doorway, startling the daylight out of me. I squawk and drop the glass, it shatters on the floor. The stress of everything compounds until it weighs on my chest.
I can’t do anything right.
I break everything.
I’m never good enough.
“Oh my god.” My throat burns and tears threaten to spill.
I can’t do anything right.
I break everything.
I’m never good enough.
“Effie…Effie.” Finn tugs on my hand and I can’t bear to look at him. “Do you want to tell me what is going on?”
I suck in a choppy breath. “We already didn’t have enough cups, and now I’ve broken one, and—Fucking hell.”
“Okay…?” Finn tilts his head to look me in the eyes, his brows fretted together. “My brothers can drink out of the goddamn toilet for all I care.”
I ignore his absurd and unhelpful comment and squat down to frantically sweep up the broken glass. “Ah shit,” I hiss when a shard slices my fingertip.
Great, now there’s going to be blood to clean up.My head pounds as anxiety beats like a drum through my whole body. If I can just make it right, make it perfect, maybe my ribs will stay intact, and my heart won’t leap through my fucking chest.
Finn bends down next to me and snatches up my hands in his, wrapping a hand towel around my bleeding finger.
“Ef, hey—” My eyes are glued to the shattered glass, my hands feeling itchy and uncomfortable being held still instead of picking it up like I should be doing,needto be doing. “Effie, look at me.Effie.”His voice is like the sharp crack of a whip, my head jolts up to look at him. “We’ll get it cleaned up. I’ll have someone go pick up some cups. It’s not a big deal, okay?”
“I know that!” I snap but instantly regret it, knowing he was just trying to help. “I know that up here.” I tap my temple. “But itfeelslike a big deal.”
“Remember when you busted into Peaches like you owned the damn place—”
“What does that have to do with anything?” I gawk at him.
“All I mean is—You—” He clenches and unclenches his fists like he just wants to shake me. “You told me I had a small cock when I held a gun to your head. Do you know how many men have been in that same position and pissed themselves, crying for their mama? You’re the fucking bravest person I know, so why are you freaking out over a goddamn cup?”
He sounds frustrated but genuine, and I just wish it made sense. How I feel, how I’m spiraling over something that is admittedly stupid. “That was survival, Finneas. Do or die. But this…this is just me, and just me is never enough.”
He looks truly wounded by my words and shakes his head.
“It’s just—I want everything to be perfect.”
“Who says it has to be perfect?” His question stuns me.
“Uh…I don’t know, everybody?”
“Who’s everybody?” he asks, and I look at him like he has three heads.
“My parents—”
“Aren’t here.” He cups my face between his palms. “You’re perfectly enough. And all this?” He swipes his arms wide. I open my mouth in retort, but he presses a finger to my lips. “They’re only things.” I try to absorb his words and quell the hammering in my chest, but I still feel the anxiety like a storm.
“You don’t believe me.” It’s not a question, he’s making a statement, an observation and I nod. I don’t believe him. “Fine.”
