Page 34 of The Pretty Savage

"Do you need help?" Yolanda asked, the sound of her feet coming closer to me echoing in my mind.

I needed help, but I didn't want to ask for it.

"I'm fine," I murmured, ignoring the huff that came from her.

"You don't look fine."

"I'm. Fine," I bit out, looking up at her and the scowl on her face. "I can do this."

"Vega—"

"I can fucking do this, Yolanda." One small injury wouldn't kill me. That much I knew. But asking for help would. "You can go back to your room if you want to. I'm okay."

I needed her gone. I needed to go to the bathroom and look at the damages, to wallow in self-pity for just a couple of minutes before putting on the mask I so expertly wore. Adrian's words from last night still picked at the scab of wounds I carried since I was a child, and no matter what I did, no matter how many times I told myself I didn't care about his opinion, my soul, my mind, and my heart refused to listen.

It was as if he flipped the switch, revealing the scars that had never healed properly, making them bleed once again.

"I'm not going anywhere," she said, refusing to move from her spot. "You saved my life, now I'm saving yours."

"I don't need you to save me!" I roared, breathing heavily as I looked up at her. "I can take care of myself."

"Well, tough luck, buttercup," she sneered, lowering herself down so that her face was in line with mine. "You're stuck with me, and whether or not you want to admit it, you need me. You need help, and since you don't want to go to the doctor, you're stuck with Nurse Yolanda today. You haven't seen yourself yet, but you look like you just came out from a fight with a grizzly and there's no way I'd be able to live with myself if something happened to you while in this state."

She went on and on, babbling, repeating over and over again that she wasn't leaving, and the strangest thing happened. Something wet slid down my cheek, and before Yolanda could see it, I lowered my head, realizing it was a tear.

I was fucking crying.

The realization itself opened up a dam inside my chest, and there was no stopping it. There was so much to unpack, so much I’d been hiding deep inside my soul, that one little act of kindness, one person that showed they cared about me in their own way, made me shatter right in front of their eyes.

I wasn't trained for this.

I had no idea how to deal with this.

Emotions weren't something I could afford. Love, happiness, friendships, those were the things I could never have because of what I did, but here, with Yolanda, my probably very first friend after Tyler, I was lost as to what to do. Did I show her who I truly was, or did I keep pretending?

"Vega?" she murmured, starting to crouch down, and I knew I couldn't let her see the tears in my eyes.

"I'm okay," I mumbled, closing my eyes. "Let me just go to the toilet and take a shower. I feel like death washed over me." I laughed forcibly, and I had no idea if she believed me. But I didn't dare look at her. I didn't dare lift my head as I stood up slowly, trying to ignore the pain in my body, and walked toward the bathroom.

Just a couple of more steps.

Just a?—

"Do you want me to help you?" Yolanda asked as I reached the doors. "If you wa?—"

"No." I shook my head. "If you want to, you can go, really. I'll be fine."

"I already told you, babe, not happening. I'll be right here outside, waiting for you. But if you feel like you can't do it, call me. Just holler, please."

There was obviously no arguing with her, because Yolanda was as stubborn as I was; maybe even more.

It was unfamiliar, these feelings she was evoking in me. I couldn't remember the last time someone cared for me or the last time someone had stayed with me while I recovered from wounds that were inflicted on me during a mission.

I liked to think I had sort of a friendly relationship with Alena, but that friendship was created out of necessity, the urge to have her in my circle because I couldn't trust her and she couldn't trust me. This life we’d led wasn't a happy one. When you live filled with paranoia and uncertainty, you have to choose the people you surround yourself with very carefully.

And Yolanda definitely wasn't carefully chosen. Hell, I had a feeling that she pretty much adopted me the moment we walked out of the dean's office, and for whatever reason, I liked it. Maybe it was the sick and depraved part of me that craved closeness with other people in any way I could get it, but having a friend, anyone really, that would care for my well-being, who would fight tooth and nail to stay by my side when I was quite literally being a raging bitch, was something I never had—and I fucking wanted it.

God, I could almost taste it on my lips, this possessiveness coursing through my veins, because I couldn't trust that Yolanda would stay my friend if she found out what I did. And I knew it was wrong on more levels than one, but I didn't want to let her go. I didn't want to go back to the existence where almost no one knew my name.

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