Page 114 of Faking It With the Small-Town Bad Boy

“What’s going on, darling?”

She doesn’t reply, just blinks away the constellation of tears on her

light eyelashes. Her hair is tangled in an unwashed mop while her

hands seem to run methodically up and down her calves that she

hugs firmly. The blood streaks through the water that pours

overhead and disappears into the drain with her silent,

unmentionable cries.

“Darling, what happened today?”

Shaking her head, she only shrugs at first, unwilling to speak for a

long minute. When she does speak, her voice is meek and mousey,

her body trembling next to mine while water soaks into my jeans.

“I think I’m crazy,” she says, shrinking into herself and curling

tighter into a ball under my comforting arm. “I just… I flipped out. I

threw a glass. I threw everything. I wanted to throw it at him, but I

didn’t, thankfully. I just… Maybe I’m losing my mind, and I don’t

realize it, Percy.”

I pull her tighter into my side, and she seems to relax a little, her

head tipping sideways against my shoulder. “You’re not crazy. You’re

a woman who was scorned. Scorned more than anyone should be and

it’s not right. That doesn’t make you a bad person or that you’re

losing your mind, darling. You are allowed to feel anger.”

“Maybe he’s right. Maybe I have issues.”

She ignores me, and I realize now she’s not looking for solutions,

she’s looking for support. I’m not going to talk her off this ledge of

feeling crazy and like an angry monster, even when I know damn

well she’s not. I haven’t known her well for long, but I know she’s not

a bad person, she’s just caught in a bad time.

“You are not crazy,” I hum, speaking into her warm, rosy cheek. “You

were told there would be a carnival, and a monsoon came instead.

Any rational person would be upset, darling. You can feel things and

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