Until Alex - J. Nathan Page 0,42

no idea, do you?” she whispered.

My eyes fell to her pouty lips, contemplating what they’d taste like. She hadn’t eaten, so I surmised mint with a splash of strawberry from the fruit punch we drank. “What?”

She reached over, gently brushing a fallen piece of hair back from my forehead. The contact sent shivers rippling through me. What the hell? I didn’t do shivers, trembles, or any other cliché shit that happened when making contact with the opposite sex. At least I never had before.

Alex tucked her hand back under her head, her tired eyes timid. “What you mean to me. You have no idea.”

What could I say to that? Because all I really wanted to say was, Please don’t go getting deep on me right now. Please.

Her eyelids fell into long drawn-out blinks. Her over-exhaustion and determination to stay awake jockeyed for control. “I’m sorry. I don’t want you to feel weird or anything. It’s just…you’re the only person I have in this town. And I’m not trying to pressure you to spend time with me or anything like that. Because I know…”

My heart hammered at her unspoken words. What couldn’t she say? What wouldn’t she say? “You know what?” It came out too quickly to be indifferent.

“You don’t want to know me,” she whispered, catching me in her sad gaze.

Well, hell. How could she even think that? After last night? After today? Now? I flexed my fingers beneath my pillow, stopping them from reaching up and cupping her cheeks.

“Alex. What happened at school had nothing to do with you and everything to do with me.” I closed my eyes for a brief moment, knowing I sounded like every other douchebag out there who’d hurt someone they shouldn’t have hurt. Once I gathered my thoughts, I opened my eyes. Her sad eyes broke my fucking heart. “I just wish I could’ve warned you.”

Genuine interest flickered in her eyes. “Warned me of what?”

My life had become so damned complicated. I’d never had to explain myself to anyone. I’d never had to feel guilty over something I said. I’d never had to apologize for my actions. This was uncharted territory for me.

“It’s okay. You don’t have to say anything. I just thought you should know you’re the only person I trust—which I know sounds crazy since we barely even know each other.”

And there it was.

The truth.

I always got the truth from Alex. And strangely, it didn’t send me fleeing the room, state, or country. “What about your aunt?”

She shook her head, her lips twisting in regret. “I’ve known her just about as long as I’ve known you.” My brows slanted in, prompting her to elaborate. “My parents weren’t close with her. Actually, they acted as though she didn’t exist. I always got the feeling they didn’t trust her.”

My eyes narrowed. Not trust Katherine? She was the only one who trusted me at eighteen to rent an apartment in her building. “How do you know it wasn’t the other way around?”

Alex looked away. “I guess I don’t. Not really anyway. My mom said they had a fight before she married my dad, and they stopped speaking.” She looked back at me. “So for twenty years, they hadn’t spoken. Actually, I spoke to her more than they did. She called on my birthday, but I never met her.”

“What changed?”

She closed her eyes, pulling in a deep breath. “My parents died in a plane crash last month. She’s my only living relative.”

Fuuuuck.

My mind tried to sort through the thoughts whipping through it. That definitely answered the what makes someone cry for days question. She’d lost her parents. She’d been sent to an unfamiliar place to live with a virtual stranger. And now people were messing with her. “You haven’t mentioned them.”

Her eyes snapped open etched deep with pain. “Because then it makes my nightmare real. If I don’t talk about them, I can pretend I’m away. Like I’ll see them again as soon as I get home.”

I knew exactly what she meant. I did the same thing in the foster homes. Always believing my mom would show up at the door one day looking for me. But inevitably, the truth caught up with me. And I was still alone. Alex would find that to be the case sooner rather than later. And the pain would be just as harsh. If not harsher.

“My boyfriend’s parents were on the plane, too,” she continued.

I must’ve winced because she nodded, wiping away a tear that slipped down her cheek.

“It