Page 202 of We Can't Be Friends

The memory flashes before me from the first time I thought this. His drunken confession. The tears prickling his face.

How often did I wish he’d talk to me about what happened? How many times did I give him space to share after he made space for me? Does Cal not believe that I can handle him, that his burdens are too big for me to help carry?

He sat with me in my darkness, but won’t make room for me in his.

“Let me in,” I beg. “Ineedyou to let me all the way in, Cal.”

“Let you in?”

I shake my head up and down slowly. “You let me need you. For months, I’ve relied on you and you let me.” I let him in. Carved out a piece of my fucking heart, giving it to him and letting him fill the cavity. “When I needed somewhere safe, someone to build up my trust again, it was you. But I need you to need me too, Callum. Why won’t you let me in right now? Why won’t you tell me what happened?”

His chest rises, pausing before he releases all the air in his lungs. The air in the room drains right along it.

“You’ve seen my darkness and held the flashlight to guide me through it.” I re-gift the words he gave me, “I’m not afraid. You can show me.”

Another breath.

Another break of silence.

“Needing someone is a weakness and distraction I can’t have.”

“Weakness?” It comes out raspy, meekly, laced with hurt. Is that what I am? Weak.

I relied on myself for a long time after Aaron passed, not accepting help to process my grief—a misplaced can-do attitude. Slowly, I leaned on Emerson. Then Callum. When I said I could do it alone, they were right there to say, “I know, but let me.”

I’ve needed him and that makes me weak?

No. No, it doesn’t. And he isn’t weak for needing me.

“Chloe—”

“Is this what you’ve thought of me this whole time?” I remove his hand from my skin. My voice crackles. “Is that how you see Miller for needing help with Riley? Or my therapy?”

Cal takes a step toward me. I take one back, shaking my hands in front of my chest.

“No.”

“Then what did you mean?” Moving around him, I hold my ground and his eyes.

“I didn’t mean anything.”

“You said it, so you must.” Tears make a river down my cheeks.

He runs his hands through his hair frantically. “I’m messing this up,” Cal mumbles to himself.

I go to him.

Slumping down onto the floor together.

Hold him.

Breathe with him.

“I-I’m sorry, Chloe.”

“Don’t apologize.” Truly, I know he didn’t mean what he said. That the words flew out without caution. “Just tell me what happened. I’m not afraid.”

His silence is sharp and I worry that if I take a breath, I’ll cut myself on it. But it doesn’t matter because what he says cuts me anyway. Cuts me for him and if anyone saw, they’d see me bleeding him. Bleeding my love and protectiveness over him.

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