“Uh,” I hesitated, parting my lips several times as I contemplated lying.But what good would that do?“Yeah. Sometimes.”
“Am I doing something wrong?”
“My anxiety isn’t rational. It doesn’t discriminate. You could be our lord and savior, son of God, Jesus Christ, and I’d still be anxious.” I frowned, pursing my lips. “But with you, it’s not as bad as everyone else.”
I saw a glimpse of something flicker in his eyes as he studied me, his expression pensive.
“Is…have you ever told anyone before?”
“No.”
“Your parents?”
“They don’t know.” I shook my head, averting my gaze. “Besides, the last thing they need is to be worried about me getting a little nervous. I’m fine. I can manage.”
“Clarke, you had a panic attack.” He shook his head emphatically, his eyes pleadingly searching mine. “I saw my mom get so worked up all the time, she almost lost her shit, so just…talk to your parents about it.”
I can’t.
“Why does it matter?”
“Because it just does.”
“But why?”
“Because it just—”
“I’m fine.” I cut him off as I continued to ramble on. “Honestly, I’ve been managing for a few years and I don’t think—”
“Clarke!” he yelled, his frustration bubbling to the surface. “I care about you, okay? So, talk to your fucking parents.”
My eyes widened, the shock of his words striking me to the core.
Elliot cared about me?
And, if I was honest with myself, I was beginning to care about him too. But none of that mattered—at least, not right now—because this wasn’t about us. It was something far bigger than I could put into words, and I couldn’t bring myself to explain why. There were things I wasn’t ready to share with him.Not yet. When I met Elliot’s gaze, his determination was undeniable, but no matter how convincing he was, I knew I could never talk to my parents about my mental health.
“Okay.” I sighed. “I’ll talk to them.”I won’t.
His features softened, a look of guilt washing over his face. He sagged his shoulders.
“Sorry. You’re just annoyingly stubborn.”
“So are you.” I half smiled.
“Anyways.” He cleared his throat as he clicked open the lock on the stall. “I should go…I’m not really supposed to be in here.”
I caught his arm before he could walk away, pulling him into a hug. He relaxed into my embrace, nuzzling his head in the nape of my neck. The familiar scent of mahogany and amber was intoxicating.
“Thank you.” I breathed into the fabric of his shirt.
“What are friends for? Right?”
Friends.
There it was again, that word smacking me in the face. But what if I wanted to be more? Maybe I had been too blind to realize it sooner, but in that moment, it all made sense—I was totally falling for Elliot fucking Keller.
And I was absolutely screwed.
