My Kind of Crazy - Robin Reul Page 0,81

day, until I met you. You became my family. And because of that, despite all the evidence to the contrary, my life was pretty amazing.” She breathes in deeply and then blows out. “You hate me.”

“I don’t hate you,” I tell her.

“You’re mad. You have every right to be.”

“I do. But weirdly enough, I’m not angry. I’m just unbelievably sad.” We reach a picnic table that is metal and covered in graffiti. She straddles the bench. I can’t sit. My body and brain are too amped up so I stand. “Why didn’t you tell me the truth, Peyton? Did you think I couldn’t handle it? That I would think less of you? Is that what you think of me? Because I gotta say, that makes me feel like a giant load of crap.”

“No. I don’t know.” She reaches for a rock on the ground and rubs it between her thumb and index finger.

“It’s not like you asked for any of this,” I say. “You didn’t pick your mother. Or your dad. Of all the people in the frickin’ universe, Peyton, you should know that I understand shit happens to us that we don’t ask for.”

“I’m sorry, Hank.” She screws up her face and starts crying again. “I’m so sorry. I know I’ve made a mess of everything.”

There’s this pang in my chest when I look at her, this deep ache that radiates through me. I’m sad about what happened to her, sad about how she doesn’t know me as well as I’d expected. “Funny thing is—I used to be the kind of guy who got scared and bailed when things got messy. But I’m not anymore, and you’re the one that helped me be that way. I guess I thought you knew that.”

She opens her mouth to speak and then stops herself.

My brain is firing on all cylinders. “Look, can we talk later? I need to go.”

She nods. “I don’t blame you for walking away from me.”

“I’m not walking away from you, Peyton. I just need space to clear my head. There’s a difference.”

I turn and head back toward school. Despite the fact that we’re outside, I suddenly can’t get enough air in my lungs.

23

I should have listened to Monica. She told me to stay out of other people’s shit. That the better you know someone, the more likely you are to create expectations, and life and people never live up to those. She was spot on.

I don’t know what I expected from Peyton, really. I think the problem is that I started to expect anything at all.

With every step I take away from her, I can feel myself putting up a wall. I don’t usually allow myself to get close to people, because it generally ends up biting me in the ass. I’m usually much more guarded than that, but I left myself wide open with Peyton. It’s confusing as fuck because now I’m questioning everything, sifting through what I thought we had together and trying to figure what’s real.

I feel for her and her craptastic life; I really do. I wish I could fix it. In fact, I was trying to, because I thought I knew who I was protecting her from. I feel like an idiot.

Despite everything, a part of me wants to go back and put my arms around her, to tell her I understand and that it’s okay.

But the truth is, I don’t.

And it isn’t.

And I’m not sure if it ever can be.

It’s not that I don’t want to be with her anymore. The thing is, I do. But I just can’t be around her right now. I know she needs help, more than I can give her.

I head back toward the school, but there’s no way I’m staying. Instead, I grab my backpack from my locker and walk right out the front door of the school and get on my bike. Nobody even notices. I don’t care if they call my dad. I’ll deal with it. I just have to get out of here.

I don’t want to go home. I can’t. So I start pedaling, slowly at first and then faster until the muscles in my thighs and calves burn. I push through it. As long as I concentrate on the pain in my legs, I don’t have to focus on the raw ache in my heart.

I cycle through town, out to the country roads that lead toward the woods and the organic farms with their roadside stands for freshly picked lettuce and squash.