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The fact is, I’m not at my best.
“I’ve never been better.” I can’t even pretend to look out the window. It’s too hard to see through the filters. Hercules goes back to the scrambled eggs with a huff. “You don’t get to assume stuff about me because you’re here.”
“What did I assume?”
“That I’m too fragile to cook eggs.”
“When did I say that?”
“When you leaped out of your seat and tied me to this one.”
He turns a surprised expression on me. “I would remember tying you to a piece of furniture. Are you making a request?”
My cheeks blaze. “I’m saying I’mfine.”
“I believe you.”
“No, you don’t.”
“Does it matter if I believe you?”
“Yes,” I snap, and I can’t explain why. I don’t know whether I want him to argue with me until I admit what’s going on or leave it alone.
“Then I fucking believe you. Is that good enough, or do you need me to beg for your forgiveness, too?”
His voice is so sharp, so raw, that I startle in spite of myself. “What? No.”
“Go ahead and tell me which thoughts are acceptable to share with you. Do you need me to run them through a rich-asshole filter first? Should I run them by Shane before I open my mouth?”
“Shane doesn’t have anything to do with this—”
“You seemtired.” Hercules hasn’t raised his voice, but the words are like a whip. “If I don’t meet your requirements for making eggs, then tell methat,and we can find someone who—”
“Jesus Christ, you can make the eggs. What iswrongwith you?”
“What’s wrong withyou?” He shoots back, and for the first time in the entire conversation, I get a good look at his face.Helooks tired. He looks like he hasn’t slept. He looks like he might’ve spent the night trying to find the shooter, or fretting about…
Not about me.
I’d hope it wasn’t about me.
I can’t tell him what’s wrong, and I don’t like the feeling I have that he already knows. I do not like being seen that way.Fucked up. That’s why I’m in California and not New York. I didn’t want anyone in my family to witness what I know is coming, and what I can’t stop.
He’s looking right through me, and it’s like standing out in the sun. I can’t take it.
“I’m going back to bed.”
Hercules tosses the frying pan onto another burner. “Daisy.”
“I have a headache. I’m going back to bed.”
I go into my bedroom, lie down, and breathe. That was…that was normal. That’s what I asked for. I asked for him not to treat me like ajob, and he went right back to treating me like…
Like he hates me.
“Bullshit,” I whisper to the blankets.
Because it’s not true. He never hated me like that. He never hated me by insisting I sit down while he cooked. He never hated me by accusing me of hiding, which is essentially what just happened.
