He locks his jaw and I can hear his breath come out his nose. “What did he do to you?”
“Noth—nothing. He didn’t do anything. It was me. We were on a date and then I just.” Pushed him against a door. I pause. I can’t tell him anything about what happened. He would think I’m crazy. He may already think that. I would, if I were him. “It’s okay. I’m okay.” I wipe the remaining tears from my face with the sleeve of my jacket. I don’t even know why I’m crying. It has to be that damn pill.
“You’re not okay.”
“I am. I promise, I just haven’t been on a date in a while. It—I wasn’t prepared for it. Anyway.”
We’re the only ones in this section—half of us is in automotive and the other is in electronics. A squeaky wheel echoes nearby as I move us away from the pillow kiosk into an aisle full of windshield wipers and rows of blue fluid.
He bites down on his lip and looks toward the car mats with Tasmanian Devils on them. “Did you kiss?” he says through gritted teeth.
Should I lie?
“Yeah. It wasn’t a big deal.”
“I’ll fuckin’ kill him.”
I grab the bottom of his jaw and turn his face toward me. “What’s the big deal? I’m not dating anyone, and he was there.”
He flares his nostrils again, similar to how Kirstyn did when she confronted me. People flare their nostrils a lot around me. “I told him if he laid a finger on you I’d kick his ass.”
He knew about our date? I suppress a grin at the image. “He didn’t do anything wrong. I kissed him. Don’t blame him for anything.” I let go of his jaw. “Why do you care, anyway? It’s not like you and I are together.”
He shuffles back a little like I’ve offended him again. Does he like me? Is this more than just trying to save me? Why would he like me? I’m trouble. I’m extra work. Do I like him?
“I know we’re not. I just don’t understand why you’d want to kiss him considering . . . .” He lowers his chin a little and gets a sheepish expression on his face like he said too much, like now he’s offended me in some way.
I keep it as light as I can so he won’t feel bad. “Considering I want to off myself?”
He glares at me, lifts up his cap, and runs a hand through his hair. “I keep hoping you’d just let me in so—”
“You can save me from myself?” I tease.
He doesn’t find the humor I do in that statement.
“It’s not funny. You’re—”
“Fucked up? I know this.”
“Quit finishing my sentences. I was gonna say lost.”
“Unstable at best?” I say, using his words against him.
He stares at the mats, straightening a few of the plastic blue containers of wiper fluid. “I need to get you home. I’m off in five minutes.” He moves his gaze back to me. “Can you wait in the front for me?”
A few minutes later we’re in Colter’s SUV watching the houses whip by, creating blurry colors in the windows. The drug is still there; I can feel it like a fog in my system, marring all my thoughts. He’s quiet and I know he’s thinking of how moody and strange I’ve been with him. I would be too. I’m supposed to be pushing him away, but he’s become someone important. A safety net I need to get me through these last couple weeks. God, I’m not being fair to him. I’ll just make sure to do something really horrible to him before Halloween so he can forget me and move on.
That’s such a shitty thing to think.
I close my eyes and try to imagine another way. He knows. He’s known I’m going to kill myself since after the party. There’s an expiration date. He’s going into whatever this is willingly. I don’t have anything to feel bad about. He’s already said he’s only trying to help me. It doesn’t matter that I like being around him.
He grips the steering wheel tight. I noticed it last time. He’s always uneasy around me, like he’s waiting for me to scream or run. I guess I don’t blame him.
“Are you still mad at me about the tattoos?”
He gives me a look like I should know the answer to my questions already. “Yes, I’m still mad at you. But not just about the tattoos.”
“Then why are you taking me home?”
“I don’t know.”
I can appreciate his honesty, but I feel the disappointment deep in me. I wanted him to say I was important, that I mattered. Which is so backwards. Why do I need him to validate me?
“I’m just gonna ask. ’Cause I don’t know what else to do at this point.”
I wait for him to ask his question, worried that it might be something I can’t answer.
“Why do you want to kill yourself?” he asks quietly as if he didn’t really want those words to leave his lips.
It’s strange to hear the words out in the open like that. I want to burrow down into the seat to get away from them. Instead I answer as honestly as I can. “I’m tired.”
“You’re tired.”
“Yeah, don’t you ever just get . . . tired?”
“That’s when I take a nap.”