Page 172 of The Charlie Method

I sit up, my gaze drifting in Will’s direction. He’s fast asleep.

“So Will is ruthless but selfless. He’s a gentleman and an animal. What else?”

“He’s intense.”

“That I know.”

“He smiles to hide the intensity, but it’s inside him. He’s ambitious, but he doesn’t want to be because he thinks it makes him like his dad. So he pretends he doesn’t have this innate drive to succeed in anything.”

God. Beckettisperceptive.

I curl up beside him again, reaching for his hand and lacing our fingers. “Okay. How about me? Tell me about myself, all-knowing one.”

He brushes his lips over my forehead. “You’re the strongest, most fragile person I know.”

I laugh. “Impossible. There’s this thing called the law of contradiction.”

“Huh?”

“Fundamental principle of logic. Basically, it’s a law that states a proposition can’t be true and false at the same time and in the same sense.”

“So…an oxymoron?”

“Sure, if you want to use the commoner’s term for it,” I say in a haughty voice.

He chuckles. “Another truth about you—you’re not a snob, even though you sometimes pretend to be.”

“What else, smart-ass?”

“You’re a perfectionist.”

“Duh.”

“Because you’re scared of not being good enough for your family.”

I falter. “Wh-what?”

“That’s why you push yourself so hard. You’re always trying to be perfect, because you think if you slip up even once, your family won’t love you as much.”

My heart clenches, his words hitting me in a way I wasn’t prepared for.

“What else?” I ask, my voice shaking.

“When you’re in Charlotte mode, you never let yourself relax, and you’re always on guard. You’ve spent your whole life trying to prove you’re worth loving.”

Every single word is like a tiny, precise blade cutting into truths I’ve always buried deep, under all the achievements and smiles. My eyes feel hot, stinging. I try to swallow, but the lump in my throat won’t budge.

“I…” I blink back the tears, but it’s too late.

They spill over, streaming down my cheeks as a sob chokes my throat.

Beckett curses when he realizes what’s happening. He sits up in alarm, pulling me onto his lap. “Charlie. I’m sorry, baby. I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

The tears keep falling, and Ihateit. I hate how vulnerable I feel. I hate how he just drew all these fears out into the open and forced me to look at them.

“I’m sorry.” Misery rings in his voice. “I’m a fucking idiot. I’m not good at this shit. Not anymore. I shouldn’t have said any of that.”

Another sob racks my body.

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