Page 32 of My Lovely Tragedy
A shift of feet, then a creak of the cabinet. I close my eyes, head tilted toward the door as I conjure him in my mind, just on the other side of that door.
He’s restless, legs taking him back and forth across the small space of the bathroom, phone pressed to his ear. He tangles his hand in his soft, golden hair, tugging and releasing. Stands trapped between his fingers. He never notices.
Someone says something that causes his energy to deplete. He sinks his weight against the sink, causing the cabinet beneath to creak under the weight.
His feet drag over the floor, eyes downcast.
“I needed this break, as unintentional as it was. Tobias is a good guy. He’s been kind and accepting.” A long pause. “Yeah, I know it’s fucking weird. You think I haven’t told myself that at least fifty times a day? I can be reckless, but I’m not stupid. He’s harmless.”
My finger taps in intervals of eight now. Faster.
A long, drawn-out sigh. His feet shift. Another creak. “Fine. If it makes you feel better, two days and I’ll call. If not, send a fucking search party,” he snaps. His phone clatters against the sink, startling me. My eyes snap open, and I turn, making my way back into the kitchen.
The childish meal in front of me no longer looks appetizing, but I force myself to take a bite of the soggy breakfast food. It tastes bitter and mushy against my tongue, but I swallow. Then take another bite.
I repeat the process until Brooklyn enters the kitchen. I drop my fork and give him my full attention. His energy shift is palpable. I taste it in the air, on my tongue. It vibrates in the space between us.
“Is everything all right?”
“S’fine.”
I squint, trying toread the roomas the expression goes, but it makes my skin crawl, so I just say, “If staying here isn’t good for you, let me try to take you home. I’d never wish to make things difficult for you. Even if I do wish you would stay.”
That gets Brooklyn to look up—to lookat me.He follows the movement of my Adam’s apple so intensely, I’m sure hefeelsthe pressure caught there, too.
Our eyes stay locked for endless moments. Moments I see everything, feel even more.
His body language tells me more than words.
He’s exhausted. Body drained from fighting, from defending himself. His usual defensive posture is nowhere to be seen, telling me he’s either too tired or cannot be bothered.
Either way, I am elated.
His eyes plead for a reprieve—but from what, I cannot be sure.
“I’d like to stay, if that’s okay.”
That’s the second time he’s said that, and his doubt pains me.
“Brooklyn, you can stay here as long as you’d like.”
“Just two days,” he whispers.
I nod my acceptance. “Two days.”
It’s not enough.
It will never be enough.
CHAPTERNINE
BROOKLYN
Benji’s wordsalways hit exactly where he intends them to—right in my fucking gut.
He doesn’t trust me. None of them do—that much is clear. But to hear them so blatantly admit it hurts more than I thought it would.
I mean, I knew they’d been thinking that for a while, but apparently, they all assumed I was on some drunken bender, then went and died under some bridge.
