Page 24 of A Fine Line

“I want to fucking hate you. Hating you is easy.”

I nod, lifting my shoulders and letting them fall back down as I say, “Well, I can’t help you with that. I never wanted you to hate me in the first place.”

He yanks his hand from my grip, startling me, and then his hands are on my face, and he pulls me into him and whisper-shouts, “I don’t like this.”

“This? You don’t like hating me?”

“I love hating you.”

“You’re gonna have to narrow it down for me a little bit, buddy,” I say, sighing heavily.

Grunting in frustration, his hands on my face tighten, and he looks so perplexed I finally add, “Why don’t you focus on continuing to hate me? And let the rest take care of itself.”

His eyes search mine intently, then drop to my lips and back up to my eyes as he leans in closer. His lips barely brush against mine, and he inhales sharply through his mouth, then leans a bit closer, pressing his lips more firmly before he pulls back sharply. “Fuck.”

He scrambles off the counter, standing and pushing me to the side as he continues to mutter to himself. I can’t quite make out what he’s saying, but it sounds a lot like he’s cursing, and then he stuffs everything back into the first aid kit, closing it and stuffing it under his arm. He gives me another dirty look, then stalks across the room and yanks open the door, disappearing through it.

I stand there for a moment, staring at the now-closed door, dumbfounded.

Fucking men.

I pick up the odds and ends that he left behind, throw them in the rubbish bin, and wash my hands. I’m standing there, leaning back against the counter, drying my hands, when the door opens, and Darius walks in. “Did something happen?”

I put both my hands up and bark out a laugh. “Your guess is as good as mine. I have no fucking idea what has gotten into that guy.”

Dare levels me with a knowing look as he leans back against the door and crosses one foot over the other at the ankle. He says nothing, but he keeps looking at me until, finally, I sputter, “What? What the fuck do you expect me to say?”

He gives me that annoying Darius shrug, then continues to stand there, staring me down. I whirl around to face the mirror, staring at myself keenly as I try to form a word that might actually come out of my mouth appropriately.

Finally, I respond, “I don’t have the time or energy to even attempt to unpack all the crazy that is Tony Andersen. Maybe once we get my little girl back, I can switch my focus to something other than her. But right now, I don’t have the bandwidth for it.” I push off the counter and turn to face him, still leaning against the door, now giving me one of his all-knowing Darius Hughes looks. I kind of want to punch him, but instead, I continue, “But I do have a question. Is it just me and my situation, or has something else happened in the past that made him go so completely unhinged and off the rails?”

“I think it has more to do with you than anything else, but there’s definitely something else that fuels his response to innocent people being abused. The only one who can tell that story, though, is Jayme.”

“Is he here?”

Dare nods. “He is. You kind of missed it in all the ruckus.”

“Oh, right. He was with Agatha, wasn’t he?”

“Yes. He hung back because he was stuck on the phone. Or he used that as an excuse to stall, anyway.”

“Why would he stall?”

Darius sighs, and his shoulders come up slightly as he responds, “Jayme is one of those simple yet complex people. He comes off as flippant, sometimes even a little silly, but once you break through the superficial armor, he’s kind of a stoic protector. Basically, he’s probably afraid to face you.”

“Afraid of me? That doesn’t even make sense.”

“It doesn’t make sense yet. Obviously, he’s not afraid of you physically, but he’s been on his own his entire life. His mother was a codependent user, and his father a mean, dictatorial motherfucker. He’s been through some shit. And even though he didn’t know anything about you until recently, he’s still going to be eaten up by guilt that he didn’t find you sooner and protect you from all the horrible things you’ve survived.”

“Why would he feel guilty about something he had no control over?”

“He’s human? Sometimes, the wounded take on misplaced burdens. They can’t heal their own wounds, so they work urgently to protect and heal others. In his hyper-vigilant brain, if he had been around, you wouldn’t have suffered at all. In his mind, you have every right to blame him for not protecting you.”

I scoff, then laugh bitterly. “As if there would’ve been anything he could’ve done. Any kind of offense he would’ve come up with back before he was fully capable of defending himself would’ve ended with him being dead. I’ve been used as a pawn long enough to understand why Vincent chose to impregnate me. He did that intentionally so he could use his own flesh and blood against me to get me to do what he wanted. That’s what they would’ve done to Jayme if he had known about me. And then he would be in no position to help now, if ever.”

“I agree. And I think with some soul-searching, he will as well. But for now, he’s focused on everything he couldn’t do anything about. Our good friend hindsight and all that jazz.”

“Well, he’s gonna have to get the fuck over it. We have work to do.”

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