Page 161 of Lost Lyrebird
Whether or not he stays, he’s always there at the end of the night to greet me at the back door to hold my hand, and walk me to my car.
He ensures I’m safely on my way before jumping on his bike and following me down the road, and it’s a feeling I could get addicted to—the kissing me senseless before I get into my car, and the comfort of seeing his headlight in my rearview.
As the days progress, my feelings for him start to scare me because I know that what I’m doing here will eventually drive a wedge between us.
Since I never got a chance to discuss his migraines or head injury with him the night after the waterfall, I decide to print out everything I researched online and leave the papers for him on his desk.
He’s fighting this struggle alone, or trying to, and hiding it from the rest of the world.What I don’t understand is why he thinks he needs to do so.While I stand at my locker and change into street clothes, I build up enough courage to approach the subject with him, and find out why.
The flower tonight is a white rose in full bloom.When I take it from his hand, I prick my finger on one of the thorns and drop it as I reel back.Instead of picking up the flower, Goose grabs my hand and inspects the wound.A drop of blood wells up, and he wipes it away, only for another to rise up in its place.
“Hold on a sec.”He goes to his bike and comes back with a bandana and wraps up my finger, which is ridiculous because it’s bulky as all hell, but the gesture is sweet.He ties the end with a simple knot.
“It’s not going to win you any beauty pageants, but it’ll do for now.”
“Can you imagine?My mother would have a field…” The words just fly right the fuck out of my mouth, and when I register them, my entire body goes cold.
Goose, at least at first, doesn’t act like anything is out of the ordinary about my answer.He bends down, picks up the flower, and gently hands it to me.
Needing to change the subject and fast, I ask, “Did you see the papers I left on your desk?”
He pulls the folded papers from his back pocket.“Yeah, I’ll look them over tomorrow.Not in the right headspace for it tonight.”
“Did you get another migraine?”
He nods.“Yeah, just one of those days when it’s unrelenting.”
I let the question rip from me before I can second-guess myself.“Are you still taking the pain pills?I know you said the doctor gave you new medication, but does that mean you don’t need those anymore, or do you take those too?”
Tension instantly coils in his shoulders.“Does it change things if I am?How you feel about me?”
I clench my fist around the strap of my purse, using it as an anchor.I also want to make sure my inhaler’s close by in case this goes south.“Just humor me.”
He stops, huffs, and tilts his head down.His hands go to his hips as he shakes his head.“Humor you?”
“Yeah.”
His gaze, when it rises, is suddenly sharp and unreadable.The muscle in his jaw ticks.There’s an edge to him—a side he rarely shows, one that appears when he’s angry or his control is about to unravel.“I was taking them before because it was better to be numb and half-dead than watch you ruin yourself,” he says with conviction.
My head jerks back, “Ruin myself?”
“Yeah.”
The judgment in his tone instantly has my back up.Turning fully to face him, I cross my arms.“Excuse me?We may be doing”—I motion to him and then back to myself—“whatever this is.But that doesn’t give you the right to shame me for what I did when we weren’t together.”
His lips set in a firm line.“Ditto, babe.”
“No.It’s not the same.I wasn’t filling my body with garbage.Sleeping with men who aren’t you, that’s my prerogative because, guess what, it’s my fucking body.”
He throws up his hands and half-turns before facing me again.“Do you even hear yourself?How hypocritical is that?”
I cross my arms over my chest.“Sex and drugs are not the same.”
“Yeah,” he huffs.“Keep telling yourself that.”His mouth twists in a sardonic grin.
“What?They’re not!”
He exhales and then groans, his frustration evidently boiling over.His hand comes up and rubs at his forehead.He breathes for a moment and tries to calm down.Then his hand drops, and his features are pinched together as he stares at me.In a gentler tone, he says, “Was it all to get back at me?Tell me that much at least?To punish me because, if so, you were fantastic at it.”
