“Then let me help you.”
For a moment, she’s silent and I think I might finally be getting somewhere.
“I’m good, but it’s nice of you to offer,” she says, resting her head back down on her pillow.
“You are so far from good,” I say, annoyance getting the better of me.
“Wow. If your opinion mattered at all to me, that would really hurt.”
Running my hands through my hair, I try to get a grip on the frustration that courses through me. I fail. “Jesus. Effing. Christ. What did I ever do to make you hate me this much?”
“Don’t pretend like you don’t know,” she says, clearly just as irked with me as I am with her.
“I’m not pretending, Claire. I have no clue. Neither do Van and Rosco. We’ve gone round and round about the first few weeks of freshman year, but none of us can figure out what the hell I ever did to you.”
She purses her lips together and I definitely should notbe thinking about how damn kissable those lips appear to be. “You’re part of a hive mind…hmmm…that really shouldn’t surprise me. And yet, your little brain trust couldn’t crack the code. What a pity.”
The bottle of aloe is cold in my hands, because yes, I keep it in a little refrigerated pack. It feels better when it’s cool, dammit. And it lasts longer. But that is not the point. The point is that I have no clue why I’m still standing here. I should have left five minutes ago. No one would blame me. I should have just set the damn lotion down and left Claire to her misery. After all, she’s right. It’s certainly not my fault she’s burnt to a crisp. But for some reason I don’t want to inspect too deeply, I can’t stay away.
“Do you ever get tired of hating me? Exhausted by taking shots at me? Do you ever just want to give it a damn rest?”
“No,” she answers plainly, offering no further explanation.
I can feel my face heat up, irritation rolling off me in waves.
“It really bothers you, doesn’t it?” Claire asks, her face devoid of hatred, for once. In its place is…fascination?
“That I don’t know why you hate me?” I prompt.
“That, too, I guess,” she admits. “But I was referring specifically to the fact that I don’t like you. It’s like you think not being adored is the worst thing in the world.”
All I can do is stand here in front of her, my mouth hanging open. I can’t even form words.
“I mean, statistically speaking,” she continues, “I can’t actually be the first person who doesn’t worship the ground you walk on. Am I? Or am I the first person who’s honest about it? Didn’t anyone ever tell you it’s okay not to like someone? Because it really is. I promise.”
“Jesus,” I mutter, rubbing at my temple. “I came hereto return your lens, your presumably expensive lens. I didn’t come here to get my ass roasted.”
“Lucky for you, that’s a service I offer free of charge.”
“Yeah,” I say, rolling my eyes. “Lucky me.” After setting the lotion on her nightstand, I reach into my backpack and grab a bottle of water. It’s not ice-cold, but it’ll keep her hydrated.
I’m about to turn and get the hell out of here, but out of the corner of my eyes, I watch as she reaches for the lotion and winces. “Are you sure you don’t need help?”
Her eyes cut through me again, so I turn and go. If she’s too stubborn to accept help, it’s not my fault. My hand is on the doorknob when I hear her muffled voice. “What was that?” I ask, wondering if I really did hear her, or if it was just the rustling of her sheets.
“Isaidfine,” she mumbles.
“Did you just sneeze? Bless you.” I’m not sure why our little pissing contests are so much damn fun, but they are.
“I said fine,” she repeats, her volume one degree louder, her pace one degree slower.
“Fine?” I ask, knowing I’m pissing her off, but unable to resist.
“Yes. Fine. You can put lotion on my back.”
I can’t help but bark out a laugh as I take two steps and land back in the center of her room. “Wow. I’m allowed to do you a favor? Oh, the fucking honor. How ever shall I repay you for the privilege of helping you out?”
“You know what, never?—”
