so viciously that I jump.
“What?” I ask, pulling at the sheet and curling my toes inside the blanket.
“It’s not fine, Salem.” He pushes the words out and I think they’re costing him a lot because I swear he’s vibrating. “It’s not fucking fine. It means you weren’t eating.”
Oh God.
Him and his crazy obsession with what I eat.
It isn’t a huge surprise that Arrow eats everything right and healthy. And back when… well, when I’d sneak out to see him, up until a few days ago, he’d make me eat all that weird healthy stuff too.
He’d even make me those disgusting green shakes.
I hated them but I loved how he’d take care of me and made me drink every drop.
Even now, even after everything, my chest overflows with warmth at the sharp concern in his tone.
“I was eating. I was –”
“You’re not going back there.”
I press my spine into the pillows. “What?”
“You’re not going back to St. Mary’s after this,” he declares.
“I’m sorry?”
“I’m taking you home as soon as they discharge you. I –”
I raise my hand. “Hold on a second. What… What are you talking about?”
He flexes his fists, curls and uncurls them, at his sides for a second before growling, “I’m not leaving you in that bullshit place. That place with all those rules and bullies. You don’t belong there. You…” He shoves his fingers into his hair and almost tears out a clump of his sun-struck strands. “You’re there because of me. You got sent there because of me. And all of this, you not eating, you sneaking out, happened because of me too. Because I was being a stubborn fucking asshole. But not anymore. Not –”
“Stop.”
This time, it’s him who flinches because I was so loud.
So abrupt.
But I had to do it. I had to stop him.
Because look at him. He’s… flooded with regret.
His features are pulsing with it. It drips from his body, from his glassy eyes, his agitated movements.
My fingers go limp in the sheets. My toes uncurl. I stop pressing my spine into the pillows as I watch him.
As I watch him doing exactly what I never wanted him to do.
Beat himself up.
He’s beating himself up, isn’t he?
That’s why he’s here.
Because he thinks it’s his fault. Because he thinks it’s an obligation to be here. Not because he wants to be.
And I’ve had it.
I’ve had it with him.
“Get out.”
He goes rigid at my words.
“Get out,” I say again.
“I’m –”
“No, you don’t get to talk. You don’t get to say anything. Just leave. I want you to leave.”
He grits his jaw before shaking his head once. “Salem.”
And God.
God.
I’m so fucking mad at him for saying my name like this, for turning it into a rough, sand-coated plea.
Like I’m putting him through such an ordeal by sending him away.
“Get out,” I scream and before I can think it through, I throw a pillow at him. Hard.
Nothing happens though.
It simply hits his strong, massive chest and ruffles his hair a little bit before sliding down to the floor like a loser.
It doesn’t even make him blink.
“I don’t want you here, got it? I don’t want your pity and your fucking, ‘oh my God, it’s my fault’ routine. I don’t want that from you. I don’t want you to stand there like your world has ended because you think you made a mistake. You didn’t. All right, Arrow? You did not make a mistake. It was my fault. I snuck out. I wasn’t eating. It has nothing to do with you. So leave. You’re off the hook. You don’t have to look so lost and tortured. You can go be the superstar of soccer like you always wanted.”
I’m breathing hard and vibrating now.
And he’s not breathing at all.
In fact, there’s not a single movement in his body.
It’s like I absorbed all his heat and all his air, and now he’s left with nothing. Now he’s devastated and he’s grown holes under his eyes, dark holes, and his lips are pinched and his skin is all pale and leached of color.
It’s like I’ve drained my sun.
It’s evident in his hollow voice. “Salem, it’s not… what you think. I’ve got so much to say and –”
“I don’t wanna hear it,” I snap out.
Because I have no other option but to scream at him and kick him out of the room.
Because the alternative is that I run to him.
I climb off this bed and run to him and cling to his shoulders because he looks so grief-stricken.
He looks as if he’s