“How?” He spat the word out with bitterdistaste. “How am I supposed to do that when I know this is the type of shitpeople aresayin’? How am I just supposed to look theother way when people aresayin’ this shit aboutyou?”
Aftermonths of being on the road, performing for thousands of people, and witnessinga surreal amount of buzz surrounding my music, I still hadn’t gotten used toit. There was nothing remotely comfortable about this life, or about being inthe spotlight. I wished I could find a home in its glow, a shady area all tomyself just on the outskirts, perhaps. But after every show, once the initialshock of adrenaline had left my system, I couldn’t shake the sense ofdisplacement. I felt like an actor, squeezing myself into a hero’s costume thatdidn’t quite fit, and I often wondered if it could ever be tailored enough tofit me.
Butthe role of the victim was one I remembered, and I remembered it well.
“It’shard, I get it,” I admitted. And in that instant, with that little shift in my memory,I needed distance. I sat up and pulled my knees to my chest, burrowing backinto my protective cocoon. “I know that, initially, all youwannado is defend yourself. That’s the natural reaction to being attacked,‘causethat’s what they’re doing. They’reattackingyou; they’re attackingmeforbeing with you. But yougottaresist thaturge, sweetie, because if you don’t, they’re justgonnafeed on your weaknesses. They’regonnasee that theygot to you, and then they’ll keep going. They’ll getworse.”
Chadwasn’t capable of givingme space any more. I think hefelt like he’d given me enough, after all those years of being apart. His handnow moved from the center of my back and up into my hair, coiling the strandsat the nape of my neck around his fingers. They flexed against my skull,massaging gently, and while the memories of my tormented high school yearsswirled around in my brain, I was comforted by knowing I wasn’t alone now. Andyet, for the first time in years, it stung that he hadn’t been there for meduring that time, because if this is how it felt to be comforted by him now, Icouldn’t imagine how much better it would’ve been then.
“Idunnoif I can do that, Molls.”
“What?”I peeked over my shoulder to find his gaze, pinned intently on me.
“Idunnoif I can keep my mouth shut.”
Ibrushed a hand through my hair and diverted my gaze. “Youhaveto. Because ifyou address it, that’ll look worse for you.”
Hescoffed and dropped his hand from the nape of my neck. The brush of hisfingertips warmed a trail along my back, only to freeze seconds later. Ishivered and tightened my arms around my knees.
“It’lllook worse todefendour relationship?” He questioned and scoffed again,chuckling bitterly as he rolled out of bed.
“Whereare you going?” I asked the question, but I already knew. He was going to watchTV with the guys, get a snack, take a shower. Anything to remove himself fromthe topic and the battle at hand.
“I’mjustfailin’ to understand your logic.” He shook hishead and pulled on a pair of sweatpants. “You think thatignoringthis isgonnamake it go away.That is what you’re saying, right?”
Iclimbed out of bed and grabbed for Chad’s sweatshirt, pulling it on andcrossing my arms, acutely aware of the divide from the Queen-sized bed betweenus. Distance and space.
“Yes,that’s what I’m saying.”
“Andwhat makes you think that’sgonnawork?” hechallenged, crossing his own arms.
Iswallowed and rolled my lips between my teeth, working the words along mytongue until I could spit them out. “Because that’s whatIdid.”
Chadpursed his lips and nodded, considering. A contested flicker passed his gaze.“That’s not what youalwaysdid. There was that one time you listened,and then you came over to that fuckin’ table in the cafeteria. Because youcouldn’t let them talk their shit without at least acknowledging it once.”
Mylips parted before they closed again. This conversation had never ventured intothis territory, not yet. We’d never spoken solely about me. But now, we were.Hot coals ignited beneath my feet and icicles dripped into my bloodstream. Iworked my jaw, dropped my gaze, and argued with myself about what I should say,what I shoulddo, and only one thingcrossed my mind.
Imade a move for the door. Charged with self-defense, I cut around the bed andthrew my arm out to pull it open, but Chad’s hand shot forward and pressedagainst it. Blocking my exit. And as if I hadn’t moved on from all that crapfrom years ago, I was suddenly trapped inside this room with the boy who refusedto defend me in front of his friends. I found it amazing, how quickly I couldbe thrown back there. How instantly years of healing and self-growth could betossed away.
ButI wasn’t angry, not at him or myself. I was only aching, grazed by a residualpain that existed only in my distant memory, and I found myself needing aconversation I never realized was necessary.
“Whydidn’t you say anything to me?” I whispered, unable to meet his eye, as thoughwe hadn’t made love forty minutes ago. “Why did you let them say that shit tome?”
“Popularityfelt important, and those guys made me popular,” he replied with simplehonesty.
Inodded, brushing the tangled hair from my face. “And nobody would’ve liked you,if you were seen with me.” It wasn’t intended to be a jab. Just a statement ofthe truth, and still, that old, nagging guilt marred his features.
“Yourdefense in a big, new school was to clam-up and walk away, but mine was to dowhatever I could to do to keep them frompickin’ onme from the start. I needed to blend in to keep fromstandin’out,” he explained bluntly, his voice edged with the harsh truth. “I was stupidand took you for granted. But I did defend you.”
Ilifted my eyes to his, narrowing my gaze with question. “Wait … what?”
Thehard lines of his worry dissolved and were replaced by the soft edges of hisaffection. “You always walked away.”
“Butyou never said anything to me. You let us just grow apart …” My voice tore,jagged and broken, and I swallowed at the sudden rush of unwanted emotion.
Chadshrugged. “Like I said, I was stupid and took you for granted. Popularity wasimportant and talking to you would’ve put a sign on my back. But I didn’t letthem get away withsayin’ shit about you.” He pulledin a breath and reached for the bed to grab his phone. “Which is why I can’thandlethis, Molly. Because, yeah,they’resayin’ shit about me andIfuckin’ hate it, but I could with it. The problem is, they’re criticizing you,too, and I don’t know how to ignorethat.”
Itipped my head back and lost myself in the heat of his glare. The protectivecruelty that dwelled there left me jarred and shaken, and I took a step closer.“It doesn’t bother me, Chad. I learned to ignore the comments, while allowingthem to make me stronger, and I can handle it.”
