Page 58 of Fragile

“Hey,” I say, getting her attention and patting the side of the bed next to me. “Will you sit with me for a second?”

A flush creeps onto the apples of her cheeks as she hobbles over. I go to stand to help her, but she puts her hand up to stop me.

“I need to strengthen it again. Don’t get up. This is good practice.”

I nod, though my instincts urge me to help. Quinn's injury is still fresh, but the determination written all over her face tells me helping her would only piss her off. I watch her make her way to the bed with slow steps. She lowers herself cautiously, wincing as she settles beside me.

“How does it feel?” I ask.

She exhales a whoosh of air, glancing at her bandaged ankle. “It's better. Slow going, but better.” When her eyes lift to meet mine, there's a moment, an electric current buzzing, and everything unsaid lingers between us.

“Good,” I murmur. “That's good.”

Quinn shifts slightly, the mattress dipping with her weight. Trying to dispel some of the tension, I clear my throat. “So, uh, thanks for deleting his number and for organizing all of this.”

Her clear green eyes don’t leave mine as she nods. “It’s easier this way.”

“Yeah,” I agree, my voice barely above a whisper. “It's just... a lot.”I’m a lot.

Quinn's gaze softens, and she reaches out, her fingers brushing mine. The contact is brief, almost fleeting, but it sends a jolt through me. “You don't have to carry it all by yourself,” she says gently.

The words are like a balm, soothing the raw edges of my stress and anxiety. But they also scare me. Leaning on someone, letting them in, means risking more than I think I can handle. Especially when that someone is Quinn, who is such a big part of my life anyway. I could mess it all up. I could lose her.

“I know,” I reply, though I'm not sure I entirely believe it. “But sometimes it's easier said than done.”

“I get that.” Her hand lingers near mine, understanding in her eyes.

“Quinn,” I start, but my voice falters. What do I even want to say? That I'm grateful? That I'm scared? That despite everything, I can't stop thinking about her?

She looks at me, waiting, her expression open and patient. It makes it both easier and harder to speak.

“I don't know if this is... if I’m good for…” I trail off, unable to stop staring at her lips and warring with the feelings inside of me.

Quinn's expression hardens with what looks like uneasiness. “If you’re good for what?” she asks, her tone carefully neutral.

“For you.” The words tasting bitter in my mouth. “I mean, with everything going on, I’d understand if you want to forget everything that’s happened between us and keep it platonic.”

Her eyes flicker with something—hurt, maybe? Disappointment?—before she masks it. “I see.” As she pulls her hand back, the loss of contact is almost physically painful.

“It's not that I don't want to,” I say quickly, desperate to clarify. “I want to, so much. It's just...complicated.”

“Life is complicated,” she replies, a hint of steel in her tone. “But that doesn't mean we should avoid what we want.”

Her words strike a chord, resonating with something deep inside me. I know she's right, but it doesn't make it any easier. The stakes feel impossibly high. Our friendship. My college career. The fact that her brother is my best friend. “What do you want?”

Her green eyes clear as she says. “You.”

“Quinn,” I say again, and this time, I reach for her hand, holding it tightly like she’s my lifeline. “I don't want to mess this up. I don't want to hurt you.”

She squeezes my hand back, her eyes searching mine. “You won’t hurt me.”

It's a challenge, a plea, and a promise all wrapped into one. And it terrifies me.

“But what if I do?” I whisper, raw with emotion. “What if I can't do this right?”

She leans in, her forehead almost touching mine. “Then we'll figure it out. Together.”

The closeness of her, the intensity in her eyes, it's almost too much. But it's also exactly what I need. The fear, the uncertainty, they don't vanish, but they become more bearable with her by my side.

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