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"Why?"
"I needed you to be able to rest and stay safe while I take care of things back at your house."
She rolls over onto her side, moving away from me. "I'm sorry I dragged you into all of this," she says. I can hear the sadness drip from each of her words.
I lay down on the bed next to her and look up at the ceiling.
"I'm the youngest of four brothers," I say to her. "You wouldn't know this because you're an only child, but it can be sort of tough being the youngest child sometimes. You're never really old enough to be doing what everyone else is doing, but you always want to be included.
"I remember when I was five, Primo and Consty decided that they were going to go fishing. I didn't really care about fishing and still don't to this day. What I cared about was being included," I explain.
"My mother told me that I was too young to go, but I didn't care. I knew the car they were going to be driven in and I snuck into the trunk an hour before they were scheduled to leave.
"After about three hours in the trunk of a car that hadn't gone anywhere, I realized that something wasn't right.
"Turns out their fishing trip had gotten canceled."
I chuckle to myself as I remember the story.
She turns over and looks at me with bloodshot eyes. "I don't understand," she says.
"My point is," I say, turning over to look at her. "You didn't drag me into anything. Ever since I was a kid, I've had a way of inserting myself into things.
"Charlie was pretty mad when he smelled what I did to the trunk of his car, though."
I laugh at her expression.
"Don't worry. I promise not to pee in the trunk of your car."
She can't stop the giggle that escapes her mouth. If I wasn't worried about breaking her, I would roll on top of her and kiss her.
Instead, I roll off the bed and jump to my feet. She watches me as she brushes away the last of the tears from her eyes.
"I want you to rest here," I say.
"Where are you going?" she asks.
"Back to the house," I reply.
"I should go with you," she says. "I should help."
"Absolutely not," I say to her. "I want you to stay here. I want you to rest. Here," I say, tossing her my credit card. "I want you to order food.
"Eat. Watch television. Do things a normal teenage girl is supposed to do."
"How can I do any of that while you're cleaning up my mess?" she protests. She tries to get off the bed, but I'm on her in a second. My legs are on either side of her, and I'm careful not to put any weight on her frail frame.
"It's not your mess," I correct. "It's their own damn mess. And you can do all those things by just doing them. Don't think about it too much. Try and put it behind you."
"I'm not sure that I can," she admits, the will to protest leaving her body. I can feel her relax into the sheets and force myself to climb off of her.
"Just try," I say. "All any of us can ever do is try."
I make my way to the door, and she follows me. I toss her the remote to the television.
"Do you know how to work one of these?" I jest.
The corners of her mouth twitch up into another soft smile. "Yes," she says, a little bit of sass breaking through her shy exterior.
