"It wasn't like that," Wolf snarled. "You wouldn’t understand.”
"I sure as hell can't understand if you don't tell me!" I shot back, my gaze finally daring to drift to his face. His jade-green eyes glowed with furious fire, and I managed to withstand it for a few seconds. But I wasn't the first to look away. For once, it was Wolf who broke our stare.
"Look -" I started. "You're right, okay? I'm only gonna say that once - you were right. I judge people harshly. I freaking can't get past my own judgement of people. And it sucks! It super sucks to realize maybe you were the asshole all along, but that doesn't mean I can't change it. I'm gonna. Just slowly. At my own pace. No matter what it takes, I'm going to change it."
"Why?" He demanded.
"Because I have to."
"Why?" He shot again, harder, like he was trying to cut me with his words alone.
"Because - " I swallowed. "Because if I don't, I can't be a good shrink."
"There's more to life than becoming a good shrink," Wolf said. "For instance, becoming a good person, maybe?"
"I'd say I'm already -"
"You're not," He snapped. "None of us are. You don't attain it, like some trophy, set it aside and rest on the laurels of it. We have to work at it. Being a good person takes work, every second of every day. That's why so few people do it - because it's exhausting."
He sat on the bed, his elbows on his knees and his hands in his chin.
"You're so focused on becoming something to help your Dad," He said, suddenly sounding tired. "That your life is passing you by."
I felt my hackles rise. "You know nothing about my life."
"I read your essay," He shot a glare at me.
"That's not all of who I am! It's just a piece of paper!"
"It was your writing," He insisted. "Very determined, very honest writing, written to chase your dreams. I read it. I read it over and over again. That essay bared your soul. Whether you deny it or not, that essay was you - down to the very last comma."
"You don't know me from an essay."
"No," He agreed. "But I know you're burning yourself at both ends in a misguided attempt to 'save' your dad. I know you abandoned your dreams of writing to help him. You're holding the world on your shoulders, and eventually it's going to crush you."
Something in my chest twisted around, hard and aching.
"So?" I retorted. "It doesn't matter - if it works, if I can make a difference, I don't give a shit if it crushes me.”
"Of course you don't," He spun a silver ring around his finger. "Because you don't care about yourself. You don't think you're valuable, or worth caring for."
It got hard to swallow, all of a sudden.
"Why are you acting like this?” I asked. “Why do you give a shit at all? I'm just the scholarshipper to you."
Wolf stood up again, and moved towards me. He hovered there, inches away, his voice low and gravelly. He smelled like wine and wool and something distinctly boy - spice and sweat. The cuffs of his sweater hiked up, the gauze on his knuckles showing.
"Because I was you. Once upon a time."
I didn't dare look up at him. He laughed, the sound black with despair and rumbling in his chest. He spun a ring around his finger faster.
"I tried to save someone, too, no matter what it took. And what you see is everything that's left of me, after it all came crashing down."
He was so close, I felt that strange urge to reach out to him again, to feel the softness of his sweater, the smoothness of the skin of his collarbone. There it was – that weird something arcing between us like electricity again. I hardened myself and looked up at him. His gaze was squarely on me, taking in every inch of me as if he was trying to memorize it.
"You shouldn't have come," He said.
"To the party?" I asked.
"To the party. To Lakecrest. To this room. To me, at all."
"Not everything revolves around you."
He laughed that sad laugh again. "You even sound like him."
"Like who?"
Wolf stepped back, and shook his head. "No one. Nothing. You should leave."
"You can't just say something like that and then dismiss me like I'm some servant. I deserve answers."
"You deserve to be selfish. You deserve to pursue the things that make you happy. You deserve to live your own damn life," Wolf said. "But you won't, because you're stubborn. You'll bury yourself in duty and your savior complex until you start to think misery is all you deserve."
"I -" I set my jaw. "I am happy."
Wolf scoffed, so derisively it bounced off the walls. I thought of all my old things stored away in my closet, of my phone empty of texts and calls from friends, of crossing Sarah Lawrence off my wishlist, of my desk crowded with textbooks and only textbooks.
"I - I will be happy," I corrected. "Eventually."
"When?" He asked. "When your dad gets better? When you've decided you've 'fixed' him? When, Beatrix, will you make time in your busy schedule to get around to being happy?"
I bristled. "You're not exactly sunshine and rainbows yourself."
"If insulting me makes you feel good, then fine. Do it. I'll take as much as you want to give, if that's the only way you can take your frustrations out."
It hit me, then.
"You said it," I marveled.
"What?" He snapped.
"My name. You said it.”
He opened his mouth, then closed it. "I suppose my pride isn't as strong as your childishness, then."
"For the last time, I'm not a child -"
He rounded on me, coming close again, his fingers playing wildly with his silver rings.
"No, you're right. It's impossible for someone who gave up their childhood for their father to be childish. You're just stubborn. Stubborn and na?ve and -"
We were so close, I could see the golden streaks in his eyes, feel the heat thrumming off his wine-flushed skin. It was so stupid, so wrong, but I couldn’t ignore how handsome he looked, even frustrated. Especially frustrated. I must’ve been seeing things – the pot smoke must’ve done something to my eyes, because I saw him raise his hand, his palm hovering just beneath my jaw -