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“I’m sorry,” he whispered again, his breath ruffling my hair and brushing my ear. “I don’t know what to do anymore, final girl. I’m all mixed up.”
The despair in his words fisted around my heart, and I forgot all about my confusion and pain and focused on his. “It’s okay,” I whispered into his neck, brushing my lips across his steady pulse.
He made a sound, and I kissed him there again. The way his pulse jumped under my lips made me feel like I was kissing his heart.
A sigh moved through him. It made not one sound, but oh, the way it muted everything else. Hugging tighter, we remained like that for long minutes, clinging, almost desperate as if something were waiting to try and tear us apart.
“I have misophonia.”
Pulling out of Ben’s hold, I looked over my shoulder where Matt stood nearby. “What?”
“P, we don’t have to talk about it right now,” Ben told him.
He lifted one shoulder. “You knew before,” Matt said, glancing at me, slightly sheepish. “So it really wasn’t a lie. I just don’t like to talk about it.” He was silent a moment, then, “Was hoping you’d remember.”
I made a sound and turned to go to him, tripping a little over the stupid cast.
Ben caught me around the waist at the same time Matt came forward. I held out my arms, and he moved into them. I hugged him tight, feeling sorry I’d gotten so mad before. Sorry I’d accused them of lying. They weren’t, not really. It wasn’t their fault I couldn’t remember.
“I’m sorry, Matty,” I whispered.
He patted me on the back. “It’s okay.”
I pulled back enough so I could look into his face. “What’s misophonia?” Concerned, I reached to cup his jaw. “Does it hurt? Oh, Matty, are you in pain?”
Behind us, Ben’s feet scuffled. “He will be if you don’t stop holding his face like that.”
I rolled my eyes.
Matt’s lips curled as he chuckled beneath his breath. The low laugh sent a burst of that déjà vu feeling, this one much more pleasant than the last.
Still cupping Matt’s face, I glanced behind me at Ben to scowl. “Be quiet. I’m talking to my brother.”
Offended, he pointed to himself, more specifically at his hoodie. “I’m wearing a wet, smelly rag so you don’t have to.”
Clearly, he was the dramatic one.
Turning back, I refocused on Matt. “Are you in pain?”
His brown eyes turned soft as though me worrying about him was something he appreciated. “You asked me that the first time I told you too.”
“I don’t want you to be in pain.”
“I’m not.”
“How long have I known?” I asked.
“Since high school.”
I nodded, looking inward, trying to see that time in my mind. Seeking the memory vault that I knew had to be somewhere inside me.
“Don’t give yourself a headache,” Matt said, reaching to gently tug my hands away from his face. He didn’t release me, though. He slid an arm around my waist to take some of my weight. “How’s the ankle?”
“This isn’t about me right now,” I told him.
“It’s always about you,” Ben said, making my stomach flip and my stare stray in his direction.
“Misophonia is a severe sensitivity to sound,” Matt told me, stealing my attention once more.
