he has all this shit,” Hardin says and waves his hand toward the house.
Hardin’s dad left when he was ten, just like mine, and they were both drunks. We have more in common than I thought. This wounded and drunk Hardin seems so much younger, so much more fragile than the powerful person I’ve known so far.
“I’m sorry that he left you guys, but—”
“No, I don’t need your pity,” he interrupts.
“It’s not pity. I’m just trying to—”
“Trying to what?”
“Help you. Be here for you,” I say softly.
And he smiles. It’s a beautifully haunting smile, and makes me hopeful that I can help him through this, but I know what is really about to happen.
“You are so pathetic. Don’t you see that I don’t want you here? I don’t want you to be here for me. Just because I messed around with you doesn’t mean I want anything to do with you. Yet here you are, leaving your nice boyfriend—who can actually stand to be around you—to come here and try to ‘help’ me. That, Theresa, is the definition of pathetic,” he says, punctuating it with air quotes.
His voice is full of venom, just like I knew it would be, but I ignore the pain in my chest and look at him. “You don’t mean that.” I think back to a week ago when he was laughing and tossing me into the water. I can’t decide if he is a great actor, or a great liar.
“I do, though; go home,” he tells me and raises the bottle to take another drink. Reaching across the table, I snatch it from him and toss it into the yard.
“What the hell?” he yells, but I ignore him and walk toward the back door.
I hear him scramble and then he steps in front of me. “Where are you going?” His face is inches from mine.
“I am going to help Landon clean up the mess you made and then I am going home.” My voice comes out much calmer than I feel.
“Why would you help him?” The disgust in his voice is clear.
“Because he, unlike you, deserves for someone to help him,” I say and his face falls. I should be saying much more to Hardin. I should scream at him for the hurtful things he just said to me, but I know that is what he wants. This is what he does: he hurts everyone near him and he gets a kick out of the chaos that comes out of that.
Hardin quietly steps out of my way.
When I go inside, I find Landon crouched over, pulling the cabinet upright.
“Where’s the broom?” I ask when he’s done. Landon looks at me with a thankful smile.
“Right over there,” he says, motioning to the broom. “Thank you for everything.”
I nod and begin sweeping up the smashed dishes. There are just so many. I feel terrible that when Landon’s mom comes back she’ll find all of her dishes gone. I hope they didn’t have any sentimental value to her.
“Ouch!” I gasp when a small piece of glass digs into my finger. Droplets of blood fall onto the wooden floor, and I jump up to reach the sink.
“Are you okay?” Landon asks, worried.
“Yeah, it’s just a little piece, I don’t know why there is so much blood.” It really doesn’t hurt that bad. I close my eyes as the cold water runs over my finger, and after a couple of minutes I hear the back door open. I snap my eyes open and turn to see Hardin standing in the doorway.
“Tessa, can I talk to you, please?” he asks.
I know I should say no, but something about the redness around his eyes makes me nod. His eyes look to my hand and then the blood on the floor.
He walks over to me quickly. “Are you okay? What happened?”
“It’s nothing, just a little glass,” I tell him.
He reaches for my hand and pulls it out from under the water. And when he touches my arm, I feel the electricity. Looking at my finger, he frowns, then lets it go, walking over to Landon. He was just calling me pathetic, now he is acting all concerned about my health? He is going to make me crazy, literally crazy, as in locked in a padded room.
“Where are the Band-Aids?” he practically demands of Landon, and Landon tells him they’re in the bathroom. Within a minute Hardin is back and he grabs my hand again. First he squeezes some antibacterial gel onto my cut,