Page 119
“I can’t do this.” She stresses the last word, gesturing between us. I stay seated on the bed, desperate not to alarm her more than something clearly already has. “Us—this weird thing between us? It has to stop.”
“What are you talking about?” My throat hurts, words sharpened like knives against my mouth as I push them out. “I thought . . .”
“Bennett,” Paloma says calmly, though her eyes close, hiding from my gaze. “You don’t know me. Not really. We’ve been friends for barely five months? And we think we know each other well enough to say we love each other?”
My stomach sinks, and I can’t stop the flinch.
“I . . .”
I know everything I need to know and nothing you say will change my mind.
I have told you more about myself than anyone else before.
I love you. End of story. Please . . . don’t go.
Before I can decide on anything to say, she continues.
“This was fun. But the real me? Who I am really? You wouldn’t even recognize her. And you wouldn’t like her.”
“Let me decide,” I plead, my voice cracking. I’m spiraling as I speak, the careful threads of my control unraveling. “I should get to decide that, right? Show me—whoever you think you are—I’m not going anywhere.”
There’s a strange sort of smile on her face before tears spill from her brown eyes. My own bleary sight has just focused in the dim light, and I can’t stop from inspecting her over and over. As if I can see some physical manifestation of whatever this pain is, so I can make it right. Fix it.
“Bennett. We don’t know each other. It’s been five months,” she repeats the words slowly, like I’m a fucking child, and for the first time, I feel anger toward her. Red hot, with warnings flashing in the back of my mind still—wrong, wrong, wrong.
“Talk to me. Tell me what’s going on,” I beg, though there’s a bitter, choked quality to my voice that I loathe. “Five months? That’s enough time—we know each other.”
“Do we?” Her arms grip either side of her, hugging herself. I try to take another calming breath. I’ve never felt this out of control around her before; her presences has always centered me, calmed me. Now . . .
I stand, stepping forward because she’s crying.
She steps back, hitting the door softly, and I freeze.
“I know you feel that way.” Her voice is all placating whispers. “But how much do we actually know? About each other? About what we’ve been through or what we need?”
“Then tell me.” The words are a desperate demand. My feet slip as I fight the urge to step toward her. “We can figure it out, together—”
“Bennett,” she snaps, cutting me off. Her voice fills with a sob. “You don’t get it. You can’t.”
You can’t. My head spins. Wrong, wrong. This is wrong and you know it. I cycle back through the last twenty-four hours—it has to be something that happened.
Your mom. Your dad. Your family.
They think something is wrong with you, they always have. Your mom can barely speak to you without bringing it up—she finally saw the piece of you that you were so desperate to hide.
“Maybe,” she says, and though she’s whispering, her voice feels too loud. “Maybe we aren’t right for each other.”
A sharp twist, like a knife shoved deeper into the center of my chest. “You mean I’m not right for you, yeah?”
“That’s not what I said,” Paloma bites out, anger and frustration parting through the tears. Her face is red, all the softened pieces now angular and sharp. Defensive. But beneath it I can almost see a flicker of guilt.
“You didn’t have to,” I snap back, throat tight. I’ve never raised my voice at her, I’m desperate not to even now, but I can barely stop myself. It all hurts too much, and I feel like I’m losing the slipping control I had over this. Over us. “I get it,” I say, raising my hands toward her in surrender, head ducking to hide the pain I know I’m unable to mask from her. “I’m not normal.”
Can’t hug your mom without flinching?
Can’t leave the arena without your goddamn rituals?
Can’t have sex with her without needing control?
