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Tears drenched my palms as I hid my face from him. I wanted him to see me as happy and pretty, not ugly and teary.
“Look at me,” he said.
“I can’t. I look awful when I cry.”
“No, you don’t. Nothing makes you look ugly. If anything, you’re even more beautiful when you open up and show me the real Manon.”
“The real Manon?” I shook my head with a sarcastic chuckle. “Who the fuck is she? Everything about my life is an act.”
He opened his palms. “What, even this? Us?”
“This is the only thing that feels real. Even my living at Merivale is like I’m tripping or something.”
I can’t say if it was the pity in his eyes or what, but the wire I’d used to bind myself in snapped, and tears streamed out of me like some angsty waterfall.
As tears melded with snot, I hated anyone seeing me like that, especially the love of my life.
Drake passed me a box of tissues and I cleaned my face up a little despite the endless stream pouring out.
First Savvie, then Drake watching on as every rotten part of me spewed out, like a stewing emotional volcano had finally erupted.
“I’ve seen and experienced a lot, I guess.” I knitted my fingers. “And I quickly discovered that physical pain was better than heartache.”
His frown deepened. “Who broke your heart? A boy? A man?”
“A man.” I sighed.
“That pedo?”
I shook my head and bit a nail. Something I didn’t normally do. I reached into my bag for my vape. “Do you mind?”
“No. If it makes you feel better. So, who is this man?”
“My dad. He left when I was young, and I felt so fucking alone. My mother had no interest in me. Only what money she could make from me.”
“Bitch.” He grimaced. “Sorry. I know she’s your mum.”
“No need to apologise. I hate her. She cheated on my dad.”
“I still don’t quite get why you cut yourself,” he persisted.
“Because it was the only thing that helped. Daddy used to hit me, and though it frightened me and made me cry, I still preferred that to him being absent. After he left, I guess I discovered physical pain was better than emotional pain. Or something like that. Shit. I’m not good at self-analysis. I’ve read a few books on it recently, and I prefer novels about fucked up women and their relationships. It helps me better understand myself to know I’m not alone.”
“Oh, you’re not alone, Mannie. There are a lot of messed-up people out there.” He released a breath.
His eyes entered mine and held me there, like some gorgeous drug that made me warm and safe.
I sucked on the vape then turned it off.
“We’ve all done regrettable shit, Manon.”
“Call me Mannie.” My mouth trembled into a smile. “It feels like I belong to something, that I have a close friend.”
He placed his arm around my shoulders and drew me tight to his warm body.
We remained quiet and close, and never wanting that moment to end, I registered it in my soul.
“Will you promise to call me instead of doing that to yourself?” he asked.
