Being alone sounds horrible.
I’ve never enjoyed my own company. It’s mainly why I spent my prep school years withterriblefriends because surrounding myself with people (even shitty ones) was better than being left with my own fucking self.
Instantly, I decide to stay. I’ll grab a drink—soda because Ryke doesn’t have alcohol in his house—and maybe eat some cake and then leave.
The cupboards are behind my head, and I reach up for a cup.
“Garrison,” Lo says with enough worry that I turn quickly.
My head smacks into the cupboard. “Shit,” I curse and rub the throbbing spot. Lo stares at me with a strange amount of concern. I don’t get it. “What?”
He asks softly, “Where did those bruises come from?”
Oh…shit.
Shit.
Fuck.
My mouth falls, and I shake my head. I don’t…how did…
God, my hoodie and shirt must have risen when I reached for the cupboard.Fuckfuckfuck.
FUCK!
I dizzy, my head whirling, knowing there’s no hiding this. I haven’t prepared for anyone beyond Willow to know about my home life.
I glance to Lily, the only other person in the kitchen. I have zero sisters, and there’s something soft and kind about Lily. It makes me want to simultaneously open up but also step back, and I don’t know how to handle telling her the truth.
Lo is different.
I guess he reminds me of me. It’s easier to go head-to-head with someone who wants to rip me open than someone who wants to hug me. I don’t want a hug.
His question jackhammers my brain. Pounding and pounding.Where did those bruises come from?I look back to Lo and lean into my usual excuse. “Lacrosse. Drop it.”
Lily suddenly swings her head to the living room. “Oh look—Moffy.” She quickly moves to leave. Lo pinches her shoulder, and they talk under their breaths before she disappears.
It’s obvious she left on purpose. Because of me. Maybe they can tell I’m lying.
I stay seated on the counter, legs hanging off, and Lo slides closer to my spot. His sharp-edged gaze drills in on me.
“Honestly, it’s lacrosse,” I say.
“It’s been Christmas break,” Lo refutes, his tone serrated. “When were you playing lacrosse?”Never. Not since prep school.
Air is hard to intake. Emotion that I hate to confront is compressing my lungs. “I don’t know…I just was…I was.” Lies die in my throat. My mouth dry.
I end up staring at a patch of sunlight on the floor. Hair hangs over my eyes, and I remember that I’m still wearing headphones around my neck. I touch the sides, the familiarity suddenly calming me. “Let me be.”
I’m seconds away from pulling the headphones over my ears like a real dick. Anything to avoid this conversation.
Suddenly, Lo hands me the salsa and then digs a hand in the bag of chips, passing me one.
I stare blankly at him. “What is this?”
I don’t get it. What is he fucking doing? The pressure on my chest has intensified. Smothering me.
“Chips and salsa,” Lo says. “If you don’t like them, we can’t be friends anymore.” He pops one in his mouth.
