Page 68 of Dear #47, You're the Worst
The tears come hard and fast. I don’t even try to stop them. Before I can control my emotions, I’m crying over the pressure, the constant judgment, the tightrope I’m always walking between who I am and who everyone else thinks I should be. I cry because my mother can’t see that I can exist without her supervision.
That I’ve basically been in charge of my life since I was six years old.
That’s when I hear footsteps outside the bathroom door. Hunter, back from dryland practice. I freeze, hoping Hunter will just walk past, but the footsteps stop.
“Juliet?” His voice is softer than I’ve ever heard it.
“I’m fine,” I call out, but my voice cracks on the words.
The doorknob turns.Damn. I realize I forgot to lock it. Hunter appears in the doorway, takes one look at me on the floor with makeup streaked down my cheeks and trembling hands, and his expression changes completely.
“What happened?”
I try to brush it off, wiping my face with the back of my hand. “Nothing. I cry a lot. I’m always too much.”
I expect mockery, or worse, awkward silence. Instead, he kneels beside me on the bedroom floor, his voice awkward. “You aren’t too much, Juliet. You’re just enough.”
The laugh that I release is harder than I had intended. “Enough for whom? Who’s going to put up with my crap every day?”
He touches the back of my hand, drawing my eyes to his face.
“Anyone would be lucky to get to put up with you. Okay? Patrick wasn’t a good fit for you. But that’s just because he was too weak. A real man would deal with you just fine.”
My breath catches. It’s too kind, too generous. I’m not actually upset about Patrick at this moment, but Hunter has no way of knowing that. I don’t know how to process it, this version of Hunter who’s careful with my feelings instead of trying to provoke me.
“Thank you,” I manage stiffly. “Really. You can go now, Hux.”
He hesitates for a moment, glancing back like he’s memorizing the sight of me falling apart on the bedroom floor, then leaves me alone.
I sniffle, wiping my face.
I hate that he gets under my skin so easily. One comment and I’m off-kilter. One touch and I forget what I’m supposed to be doing. It’s infuriating.
“I’m going to go out with the boys tonight,” he says. “They just put in a new driving range by the Rainier Bank Center, so we’re going to hit some balls and blow off some steam.”
“Fine.” It comes out huffy, like I’m upset with him. It’s not that. I’m more upset that I wanted to spend the evening on the couch with him, watching Detective Saga hunt for clues. I heave a sigh. “The Coven wants to get together. Maybe I should invite them over.”
“What the hell is the Coven?” He looks baffled, which makes me smirk.
“That’s what we’re calling the group of girls. You know, Jessa, Ivy, Wren. We decided that sounds as witchy as we want to be.”
Hunter rolls his eyes. “What it sounds like is trouble.”
“It’s only trouble for the guys we hex.” I flick my wrist at him. “Go play golf.”
“You sure?”
“A thousand percent.”
I watch as he heads out of my bedroom, closing the door behind him with a soft click. I fire off a text to the Coven, declaring this a girl’s night and saying that I have a very comfy couch. The girls chime in enthusiastically, saying they’ll be here in a couple of hours.
I sigh, putting my phone down. Hunter has been really nice lately. But there’s no room for him in my life. No matter how good he smells or how gentle his voice is when he tries to talk me down.
I would do well to remember that.
After Hunter leaves for a guys’ night, The Coven arrives right on schedule. Wren brings Thai takeout in enough containers to feed an army. Ivy has wine that definitely costs over twenty dollars a bottle. Jessa clutches a crime documentary playlist on her phone like it’s a holy relic.
We crash onto my couch, tearing into pad Thai and gossip with equal enthusiasm.
