Page 50 of Finding Noah

And then, before I could think anything else at all, I hurried my pace, leaned down to her ear, sucked in the scent of her shampoo, and whispered, “When was the last time you were fucked?”

Her footsteps came to a screeching halt as she stopped in the middle of the sidewalk and released my arm so quickly that it might as well have been on fire. She took a step back and stared up at me, horrified.

“Excuse me?” she nearly shrieked.

I opened my mouth to speak, but before I had the chance, she continued, “Don't you ever speak to me like that again. Do you understand me?”

Wait a second. “Whoa, whoa, whoa,” I said, pinching my eyes shut and holding up my hands. “Why … why … why …”

“Spit it out!”

I opened my eyes to hers, so full of fury and disgust. “Why are you talking to me like you're, like … like … like my mom?”

“Because I am an adult, Noah. And you are—”

“I'm an adult too!” I slapped my chest with the palm of my hand. “I'm eighteen, Meghan! You wanna see my license? ‘Cause I got it! You want it? Hold on. I'll show you. I'll prove it.” I reached into my back pocket for my wallet, only to find that it wasn't there. My keys weren't either. “Fuck. Wait a second. Oh God, where—”

She reached over without hesitation and straight into my other back pocket, pulling out both my wallet and keys.

She only handed me the wallet but stuffed the keys into her purse.

“Hey! Come on. That's not … Meg, that's not fair.” I huffed with exasperation as I held my hand out. “I'm gonna need those. I have to get home.”

“You are perfectly capable of walking home. And then you can explain to your parents why your eyes look like that.”

“What?” I scoffed and rolled my eyes toward the moonless sky. “My eyes look fine.”

“Oh, yeah,” she said, nodding. “I'm sure they'll agree.”

“I can't tell, but I'm pretty sure you're being sarcastic right now.”

“You're only pretty sure, huh?” She huffed, turned, and started walking away. “Go home, Noah. Go to bed.”

I shook my head at her back. “I don't know what I have to do to make you believe I'm not a child,” I muttered, and then I held my hand to my temple, silently cursing myself for saying it out loud. “Fuck. I was supposed to keep that in my head.”

Meg spun on her heel and cocked her head. “I'm never going to look at you as anything but a child, Noah,” she stated firmly, as if it was a promise. One she intended to keep. “Because as long as you act like this, that's exactly what you're going to be. A child. And I feel sorry for you. I truly do. I feel for you so deeply, but only in that I understand the depth of your trauma—”

“Nope,” I interrupted, shaking my head, stuffing my hands into my jeans pockets. “No, you don’t. You can't possibly understand. You have no fucking clue.”

She pressed her lips together, then nodded softly. “You're right. I don't have a single clue, and I'm not going to pretend like I do. And whatever you've witnessed in your life, that isn't your fault. Whatever trauma you've experienced, that isn't your fault. None of that was within your control. But you have full control over how you handle it now. So, until you get yourself some help or guidance or whatever the hell you need, I will always see you as a child.”

I swallowed hard, surprised that, suddenly, once again, I wanted to cry. “And what if what I need is you?” I found myself asking, even though it embarrassed me and set my cheeks on fire.

She blinked, then slowly shook her head. “If you want my help, you have it. Always. But otherwise, you can't have me. You will never have me.”

“But I want you,” I admitted, my eyes watering pathetically, and I realized she was right. I was a child. A selfish, whiny little kid.

“You think you want me,” she corrected. “But I promise you, that has nothing to do with what you truly want and everything to do with your mind's response to a traumatic moment—”

“Bullshit!” I shouted, quickly coming to my own defense—because if I didn't, who would? Nobody was here. Not the moon, not the aliens.

I was alone with Meghan Kinney, and she was hammering a fucking nail in my coffin with the stupid shit she was saying.

But what if she's right?

And then I wiped a hand against my cheek to find that I was crying again.

I really need to stop smoking pot.