Page 36 of Dear #47, You're the Worst
“Thorne! Can we get a picture?”
“Just one selfie, please?”
“No,” he says gruffly, pushing through them toward the exit.
Good idea. I stand up too. “I’m tired. Heading up.”
“But it’s still early,” Juliet protests, though she’s already grabbing her purse.
“Long day tomorrow.”
She follows without arguing, which surprises me.
In the elevator, she asks, “Are you mad?”
“Not everything’s about you.”
She doesn’t get it. Nothing’s about her. Nothing’s about anybody. I don’t give a damn what most of the guys think of me. I don’t like them and I don’t have to pretend to.
“Good to know.” She pauses. “Is it about your mom?”
I react as if she just slapped me. Juliet and my mom don’t belong in the same conversation.
“No.”
She pokes out her bottom lip but says nothing. I can see her holding in her thoughts, pushing them down. Juliet isn’t very good at hiding her emotions from me.
“Just say it,” I sigh as I open the door to our condo.
“Say what?” she asks, blushing.
“Whatever it is you’re thinking. I can tell you’re trying to hold something back and be polite. We will not make it five months in this...” I point between us. “You’re bad at keeping secrets.”
“I am not! What I want is to have my own PR company, for God’s sake. I’mgreatat keeping secrets.”
“Well, those people aren’t me. So go ahead. Tell me what you’re so desperate to say.”
“Your mom is a vampire.” She scrunches her nose. “You can’t give her whatever she wants. That’ll only make it worse.”
“Worse how? She’s already pretty damn bad.”
“You can’t let her bleed you dry every time she feels like it, Huxley. If you’ve gone through this before, and it sounds like you have, say no.”
I glare at her. “You don’t get it. She’s an endless pit of need.”
“I get enough,” she says firmly. “And if you want this to go away, you need to control the narrative. You can’t just give her hush money and hope she disappears. She’s clarified that it doesn’t work.”
I dig my nails into my palms and say nothing. Juliet touches my shoulder, her hand small and warm through my shirt. “I’m sorry you’re going through this.”
The genuine sympathy in her tone catches me off guard. It makes me wonder if there’s more to Juliet than I’ve been giving her credit for. More than just a sharp tongue and a banging body. I haven’t quite figured her out yet, and that bothers me more than it should.
I don’t know what to say, so I just nod and head toward my room. Anything to end this awkward moment of niceness.
Juliet disappears into her room without another word. I go into mine, close the door, lock it, and pull the dusty shoebox from the back of my closet. It’s pathetic that I still do this, but old habits die hard.
I flip through old letters I’ve written but never sent. Some are angry rants directed at Darla. Some are just blank pages with her name scrawled at the top, like I wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words. Tonight, I scribble out my feelings in angry, jagged handwriting. Then, I add it to the pile without reading it or signing it.
I open my nightstand drawer and find the old sketchpad buried underneath receipts and tangled earbuds. The last drawing is of Silas, half-finished. I haven’t touched this thing since a fan caught me sketching in one of Jett’s Instagram photos and made a big deal about it online. The comments werebrutal.
