AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Okaaay,” I drawl, not about to beg for conversation, even if my heart would quite like me to. I guess The Games being brought forward meant he couldn’t waste any more time working his notice at The Grind anyway. I wait for him to explain that some more or leave, but he doesn’t.
“Your next session is tomorrow morning. I’ll see you then.”
“Yeah, I’m well aware of my schedule, Nico,” I reply.
“Good. Make sure you stick to it.”
His attitude pisses me off, as well as the insinuation I’m not doing exactly as he’s asked.
“When have I not? If you’ve got an issue, say so.”
“No issue,” he grunts.
“No, I suppose not. I’m doing exactly what you asked—no,demanded—I do,so I’m not sure where the attitude is coming from.”
“Just be here at ten, Harlow.”
He goes to leave then, and it all bubbles out. The fact that he can’t even hold a simple conversation with me anymore; can’t spend more than a minute in my company without walking away.
“Why are you acting like you don’t care?” I yell at him. Fuck, I wish he’d care. “Aboutanything. You’re acting like this isn’t a big deal.” He doesn’t move away, but he doesn’t speak either, so I step closer. “I thought you cared about other people, Nico. I thought you were a decent guy. How are you now this unfeeling, uncaring asshole?”
“Because I hate myself!” he bellows, making me jump. If he’s spent the last fortnight hiding every emotion, he’s certainly letting them out now. “I hate that I’m the one who brought you into this.” There’s a long moment where all I can hear is his labored breaths.
“Why did you?”
I see the fight go out of him and the imperceptible shake of his head.
“Tell me, please,” I plead.
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because I know you, Harlow. While you’re wondering if everything we shared was fake, I know it wasn’t. So I knowyou. If I tell you, then you won’t hold on to that anger anymore, and I deserve for you to be angry with me. You’ll make yourself understand and give me excuses, and what I don’t deserve is your pity.”
He’s right. That’s exactly what I’m waiting to do. I want him to explain so everything makes sense again and he can go back to being the guy I thought I knew. That’s what I want. I miss him, and I hate thinking of him as this person. This hard, unfeeling person. I’m clinging to the hope it’s not the real him. No matter what happens or has happened, the important part to me is that Nico is who I thought he was.
He fucked up. Somewhere along the way, he must have, because this—what we’re doing—isn’t a choice either of us would make. It must be his fault, somehow, but I want to forgive him. I want him to give me the excuse, to show me that I can think well of him like I’m desperate to do, but he won’t. I want him to talk to me.
“Then let me talk.”
Because it turns out I have a lot to say to him, even if he’s keeping his thoughts to himself. Maybe it’ll be just as therapeutic to have him know, even if I won’t. “You’ve made mehatemyself. Not by being here—that’s fully on you—but because now I want them to win. I’m rooting for the Seconds, even if I wasn’t in it, becauseyouare. And unlike you, who happily drags whoever you need into your mess, I hate the thought of you getting hurt. Even this second version of you. Somehow, I still care what happens.”
He scowls. “There aren’t two versions of me by choice,” he says, and it’s probably the only real thing he’s said since we got here. “There’s who I’d love to be, and who I’m forced to be. None of this was my choice.”
I take two steps forward so we’re so close I can see the flecks in his eyes. I itch to touch him, but that’s surely setting myself up for even more rejection.
“Then I need an explanation,” I say, “because I need to stop thinking of you constantly. Why can’t you at least give me that?”
“You think I get that? That I get a second of the day when it’s not you running through my mind?” My heart lurches in my chest, my heartbeat somersaulting up my throat.
“Nico,” I plead. “Talk to me.”
He clearly has less restraint than I do, because he cups my face, stroking my bottom lip with his thumb as his eyes flicker with a million emotions. I don’t even bother to try and identify them, just happy he’s finally letting meseehim. I can’t stand the closed-off expression he’s worn for weeks.
“There’s no excuse.”
“I don’t need an excuse. I want a reason. I want to know.” He shakes his head lightly even as I speak.
