Page 41 of Bad at Love

“Yeah, and I have debilitating migraines, chronic constipation, and too many stretch marks. What’s your point?”

“Those are very different,” I say firmly.

“No, they aren’t. Not to the right person.”

“You’re missing the point,” I argue, letting out a frustrated sound.

“No, Gabriel. I thinkyouare missing the point. You aren’t a horrible person. You are a wonderful person who struggles with things about himself. Welcome to being human. Bet if you asked Mr. Thunder Storm what he hates about himself, he’d have a list longer than yours.”

“Doubtful.”

“Okay, maybe not longer,” she says with a laugh. “But long.”

I laugh too, but just a little.

My phone dings from my pocket, and I dig it out. I forgot it was in there. It’s a text from Storm, which has my breath hitching.

“Well, what does it say?” Marta urges, obviously already knowing who it is.

“Probably ‘see you later, freak, I’m out and never want to see you again.’”

Marta grabs my phone before I can open the text and prove I’m right.

“Would that bother you?” she asks. “If he said that.”

My instinct is to say no, because covering up my emotions is what I do—what I was taught. It’s become a habit. I know therightway to answer things, even if they aren’t the truth.

“Yes,” I answer honestly.

“Because you like him?”

With a sigh, I answer, “Yes.” I stare down at my hands before continuing. “I’m not obsessed with him or anything, but I like having him around. He’s fun, and though he can be quiteannoying, makes a mess, and walks around naked too much, he makes me feel… less like me.”

“And that’s a good thing?”

I sigh again, running my hands over my face and leaning forward before answering.

“He makes the things I don’t like about myself less, so yes. I find some of his nuances endearing rather than enraging. I even looked the other way when he left his shoes in the bathroom the other day.”

Marta puts her hand on my thigh. “Tara isn’t coming back, Gabriel, and it’s okay to accept that. You are an adult, and you deserve to be happy, whatever that means. Don’t let your parents ruin your life. You should have the freedom to do whatever makes you happy.”

It’s those words I think about the entire drive home. I’m not saying I want to be in a relationship with Storm. I’m not in love with the guy. But I like him. He’s grown on me. Yes, I’ve had some inappropriate thoughts about him, but that’s just a natural reaction from my body. I was upset when I realized we weren’t friends, like I thought. I was embarrassed when I kissed him because I didn’t know what he would think. I’ve gone through life avoiding people because I can’t handle any more let downs or people speaking negatively about me. Then Storm came into my life, and I realized that maybe people aren’t all bad. Sure, plenty are, but some are okay. He isn’t mean. Storm treats me like a human. He tries to include me in things, even though he knows I’m going to say no.

When I get home, I stare down at the text he sent me for a long time.

Come home. Let’s talk.

Home. He called it home. Our home. Meaning he isn’t leaving. I don’t know the exact point I got attached to him being here, but I guess I am because I don’t like the idea of him leaving.Especially if it was because of me. I can’t deal with one more thing going wrong in my life because of something I did. I’ve done that enough. I guess I am vulnerable right now. I’m raw and feel cut open.

I get out of the car and head inside.

“Hey,” Storm says from the living room, getting up from the couch.

“Hi.”

“Are you okay?” he asks as he walks toward me, stopping a few feet away. Nothing on his face tells me he’s anything other than concerned. He’s dressed in sweats and a t-shirt, no shoes. So I don’t think he’s about to run out of the house and say, “good riddance.”

“Yeah, fine.”

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