thin line in our friendship.
I’m too furious to be sorry for my actions. I told Finn what had transpired between Brady and I after the police left the night before because I needed my friend to tell me I hadn’t made a huge mistake. I needed someone who knew the real me to listen with an open mind and tell me I wasn’t just jumping into bed with the first guy that showed me some affection after the clusterfuck that was Sam. He listened and he understood, and he told me to do whatever I felt was right, whatever I needed to be happy.
And now, here he was, throwing all of that back in my face and making me feel like an idiot.
“I’m trying really hard right now to avoid saying something I’m going to regret. I don’t know what the hell has gotten into you in the past few weeks, and I’m sorry if you feel like I’m taking someone’s side over yours, but you have no fucking right to talk to me that way.”
Finn cocks his jaw from side to side and runs his hand once down the cheek that I smacked as if rubbing away the sting.
His eyes are cold and there’s an ugly twist to his mouth as he turns his head and stares me down. I’ve never seen him look this angry, and for a second, I want to retreat in fear.
Finn takes a menacing step towards me, and I force myself to stand my ground and not move. He leans his head down towards me and speaks in a low voice.
“I’ve done nothing but support you, and I’ve been at your beck and call for most of my life. All I wanted was for you to be careful and to not trust some loser you know nothing about.”
I hold my breath as he takes a step back, glancing away from me and at something behind me, over my shoulder.
“I guess the guy with the bigger dick wins. Or is it the guy who is the bigger dick? I always get those two mixed up,” Finn says sarcastically before turning and walking back out the kitchen door, slamming it roughly behind him as he goes.
I close my eyes and let out the breath I’d been holding as I feel Brady come up behind me and smooth a hand down the back of my head.
“Wow, and I thought I had anger management issues,” he says with a small laugh as I turn around to face him.
The half-smile from his attempt at humor dies on my face when I see what he’s holding in his hand by his side: a well-worn, brown leather journal. A book that goes everywhere with me but is only brought out when no one is around. A book that stays hidden in an extra flap sewed behind one of the curtains in my room when I'm home in case my mother decides to go snooping through my things.
“What are you doing with that?” I ask in a horrified whisper as I stare at the book. A book that was a gift from my father on the last birthday I spent with him.
His head turns to what I’m looking at, obviously forgetting that he had it in his hand during the commotion with Finn. He holds the book up between us and raises his eyebrows at me.
“This? The window company came to replace the broken window this morning while you were in the shower. I had to take the curtains down so they weren’t in the way and it fell out when I moved them.”
He opens the book like he has every right to do so and begins flipping through the pages. I’ve never let anyone read the things written in that book, even Finn. I’m in such a state of shock that this man is here in front of me, scrutinizing my heart and soul like it’s perfectly fine. All I can do is stand with my mouth open and my whole body shaking.
He stops on one page, holding the book wide open, and I know what he’s about to do. I can see it on his face and in the way he clears his throat and swallows.
I write things down in that book as a way to escape, a way to get the thoughts and feelings out of my head so I never have to think about them ever again. I don’t go back and read what I’ve written; I don’t