Her voice cracks just slightly. “He said I need to stop trying to fix everything.”
“He’s right.”
She looks at me, surprised.
“You can’t save someone who doesn’t want to be saved,” I say. “Trust me. I’ve tried.”
“You have?”
I don’t answer. Just stare at the wall.
She doesn’t push. Smart girl.
“What happens now?” she asks.
“Now?” I turn to look at her. “Now you stop running. Stop trying to transfer. Stop pretending you can fix your brother.”
“And do what?”
“Whatever I tell you to.”
She scoffs. “You really think I’m just going to—”
“I think,” I interrupt, leaning forward, “that you’ve been trying to control everything your whole life. And it hasn’t worked. So maybe it’s time to try something different.”
“Like letting you control me instead?” Her voice is sharp.
“Like letting go.”
She stares at me. I can see the war happening behind her eyes—the part of her that wants to fight, and the part that’s so fucking tired of fighting.
“I don’t trust you,” she says.
“Good. You shouldn’t.”
“Then why would I agree to this?”
“Because you’re out of options.” I lean back again, casual. “Your brother’s cut off. You can’t transfer. And whether you like it or not, you need me.”
“I don’t need anyone.”
“Everyone needs someone.”
She’s quiet. Thinking.
I wait.
“What if I say no?” she asks finally.
“Then I walk away. We’re done.”
“And if I say yes?”
I smile. “Then things get interesting.”
She bites her lip. I can see her weighing the options, calculating the risks.
Finally, she speaks. “No kissing.”
