shoulders,” she replies without hesitation. “This is my problem. It’s my load to carry. You can’t fix me.”
“And you can’t keep lying to me! I’m not trying to fix you, but you have to understand that it’s freakin’ hard to wrap my head around this. When this slipping stuff happens? Tell someone. Anyone. I shouldn’t have been the one to call your parents in here.” I breathe heavily, holding her gaze, silently pleading with her to understand. Please understand.
But instead she winces, like my words slapped her. “You said you wanted to be my boyfriend. I want to be your girlfriend. But if we’re going to be together, this is part of it.” She gestures to herself. “This is the package. I’m a little screwed up sometimes. I’m kind of crazy. I am who I am, and that’s all I can be. I’ve accepted it.”
I swallow back the lump in my throat. I don’t know what to say, what I’m supposed to say. This isn’t something they cover in the boyfriend handbook. In Health class, they tell you everything under the sun about how to handle condoms and pregnancy and STDs, but they don’t tell you shit about depression and being head-over-heels for a girl who’s tried to kill herself.
“You want to bring up things we’ve talked about?” She steps toward me, forcing me to take a step back. Another step. And another, until I’m standing just outside her doorway. “How about that night at the pond when I told you that this happens. That I melt sometimes. And I asked you to think about it, to really think about whether or not you could handle it. So maybe you should take the next couple of weeks to decide whether you still think being with me is worth all this.”
“That’s not what I’m—”
“But I’ll tell you one more thing,” she continues. “If it takes you two weeks to decide whether or not I’m worth it? I’m not sure I want you to decide.”
Tears slide down her cheeks, but her gaze doesn’t waver at all. Neither does mine. My voice cracks as I tell her again, in complete and utter hand-to-God honesty, “You are so, so worth it. But—” I choke on the word. “But you can’t lie to me, either, Marisa.”
She smiles a shaky smile. Places her hand on my shoulder. Reaches up to kiss my cheek. Her voice wavers as she says, “I’ll see you in two weeks.”
And when the door closes, for some strange reason, it doesn’t feel like a goodbye. It feels like a “see ya later.”
I hope it’s not just wishful thinking.
chapter twenty-one
After leaving Marisa’s house, I head straight across town toward Jay’s neighborhood. While I’m already out, I might as well make the most of it. If I still feel like someone’s drilling into my brain with some kind of hangover screwdriver, there’s no telling how crappy he feels. Not to mention I never called him back yesterday, even though he checked on me while going through his own mess. And a distraction would be good right now. Really, really good.
Except for his car, the driveway’s empty when I pull up to his house. It’s different here than at Marisa’s. Sunday afternoon relaxation mode is in gear, with his neighbors swinging on porch swings and a group of moms walking down the road with strollers.
Jay answers the door after my first knock. Wearing nothing but boxers, a T-shirt, and a scowl, he’s not exactly the welcome committee.
“Where’s everyone?” I ask, walking inside behind him. I close the door as he plops onto their leather couch. The widescreen TV’s at full blast, with a Tampa Bay spring training game on its screen. I collapse onto the opposite end of the couch, sprawling my legs in front of me.
“My parents are meeting Felix in Charleston.” He kicks his feet up onto the coffee table, which is covered with Sprite cans. Someone’s still fighting a hangover. “His tux came in. Tell me: how many Torreses does it take to try on a tux?” When I don’t answer, he rolls his eyes. “Three, Braxton. Three. No wonder you needed a tutor.”
Well, someone’s a special damn snowflake today. “That’s cute. That’s real cute. So why didn’t you go with ’em, funny guy?”
He shrugs. Instead of meeting my gaze, he just stares blankly at the TV. “Didn’t feel like going. I think I’m still half-drunk from Friday night.”
Closing my eyes, I flop my head against the back of the couch. “What