“You can go back to your party,” she said bitterly; or at least, she tried to. She sounded too sad to pull off 'angry'.
I easily caught up to her. “I will if you come back with me.”
She shook her head and slumped on one of the benches. She wouldn't even look at me. “Sorry, but being abandoned by the person who brought me to a party while they get it on with other people kind of isn't my idea of a fun Friday night.”
I sat down carefully next to her. “Gemma and I were actually just talking in there,” I said, and when she finally looked up at me, it was to give me a look that said 'are you joking?', so I added, “I have kissed her. Once, last Friday. She actually kissed me. We were both really drunk.”
She reacted to that like I'd actually backhanded her. “So you've been keeping this from me all week?”
I made a face. “Not keeping it from you, exactly. I just... it was something that happened between Gemma and I. I needed to think what it meant about me. I wasn't sharing it around.”
There was hurt visible on her face. “Sarah totally knew. So you told her and not me. And that blonde girl, what's her name? The supermodel one. She knew, as well. Everyone knew, but I'm supposed to be your friend and you didn't tell me.”
I swallowed. “Bree, they were there when it happened. I didn't really tell either of them. And remember that text message I sent before? I said I was going to tell you when we got home.”
“Yeah, I remember. I had to basically drag it out of you.” She looked forwards again, down at the train tracks with her lips pressed in a tight line. It was a little while before she spoke. “I mean, I understand, I guess,” she said, not sounding very much like she actually did understand. “That girl is more your age...”
I inhaled, my heart going again. More my own age than Bree was, I knew she meant, and I knew what she was implying. It was one thing to talk theoretically about the fact Bree was into me with Sarah, and quite another to have Bree almost telling me. I was so not ready for this, not at all. “Bree...”
“Is that why?” she asked me, turning those huge blue eyes on me. “Is that why you went for her instead?”
Alarm bells went off in my head and I felt deeply, deeply uncomfortable. I was not okay with where this conversation was heading. “I don't want to talk about this now,” I said. “Come on, come back to my place, we can open a bottle of red and—”
“—and then not talk about it there, either,” she said, interrupting me. “'Not now' means 'not ever' with you.”
My hackles rose a bit; I didn't want to be forced into talking about how I felt about her, and I certainly did not want to hear what she had to say about her feelings for me. “Okay, then maybe I just don't want to have this discussion full-stop,” I said shortly.
She watched me with this bleak expression for a few seconds, and then looked back at the train tracks. It was ages before she said anything, and while I was waiting, I felt like I sweat out the entire water content of my body. “I'm stupid,” was all she said when she spoke again. “I'm so fucking stupid.”
“No, you're not,” I said quietly. “I am.”
That made her eyes swim for some reason. “Yeah, actually, I am,” she said, and then looked up at me again. “Want to hear why?” She didn't wait for me to reply before she started. “Min, I had such a great time on Saturday, and on Sunday I spent all day making you the USB, and I was thinking the whole time about how much you'd enjoy it and how I wanted to make you happy. And then today I did all that shopping for you and,” she took a measured breath, “it was kind of nice, you know? Being domestic. Looking around at all the food and thinking, 'I wonder if Min would like that?' and planning what I was going to make for us.”
I listened, feeling progressively more terrible with everything she was saying.
“While I was making your dinner, I kept thinking it would be really nice if I could do that all the time. Like, make your dinner and your lunches and then give you a big hug when you get home from work. I was doing all these things thinking about you. I always think about you. I can't believe this amazing person likes spending time with me and having me over. It's like a dream come true.” When she stopped this time, those tears spilt down her cheeks. “Only it's not really, is it? It’s not really. Because all this time you were thinking about her.”
God, my heart. I tried to take her hand, but she batted it away. “Bree, no, no, no, no, it's not like that,” I said. “It's nothing like that. Gemma and I were both drunk, she kissed me and today we agreed it was an accident. It doesn't have anything to do with how much I enjoy your company or how much I care about you.”
“It was an accident? Like, how does that even work? How do you accidentally pash someone? Did you slip and fall on her face?”
“Bree...”
“Okay, okay,” she said, quietening down a little. “I just... I thought you were gay, you know? Because of Henry. And because you weren't into girls I was like, well, I can still spend time with her and still cheer her up, that's okay. And it was okay. More would have been nice, but I couldn't have it, so what we had was okay.” She swallowed. “But you're not gay, and you are into girls... and, well, what does that other girl even want? Does she want to make you happy? Does she—”
“—I met her on Friday, Bree. We were both drunk, she seriously doesn't want anything from me, and I don't understand why you're—”
“And yet she's the one you kissed,” Bree interrupted me. “You went there with her, despite all the things I've been doing for you and—”
I couldn't deal with a confession. I didn't want to hear it, so I cut her off. “Yeah, I did,” I said a bit harshly. “And just doing nice things for someone doesn't entitle you to anything more than 'thank you'.” I regretted it immediately after I'd said it, because I could see the heartbreak on her face.
“I didn't say that,” she said in this tiny voice, with more tears welling in her eyes. “And I didn't mean that, and Min, I just want to be the one making you happy, and you know what?” she asked me. “You don't even say 'thank you'. You act like it's some huge gift that you tolerate me.”
I wanted to snap back at her, but I also didn't want to hurt her again. “That's not fair,” I told her. “You know I do—” I nearly said 'love', but I didn't want to use that word, “—enjoy your company.”
“But you never say it,” she said. “You never tell me. I don't know if you expect me to be psychic or something—”
“Bree, you're not being fair—”
She was shaking like a leaf. “No, you're not being fair!” she said. “You're acting like this is no big deal that you pashed this girl, but it is a big deal, it's so not fair, and so you clearly just don't understand what this feels like—”
Okay, what? No, I was not leaving that one, so I stopped her. “Excuse me, Bree, but I 'don't understand' what not fair is like? I don't understand 'not fair'? Are you high? Are you actually high?”
She looked obstinate, even though her eyebrows were almost touching and she had her arms folded tightly across her stomach because she was so nervous. “Like, okay, there's the trans stuff, but you have a normal family, and this great job and you're really successful and have lots of money and you have this guy who totally loves you and all these other people who want you, and so of course you don't get what it's like to be someone like me—”
That made my blood rise. I couldn't sit down for this, so I stood up. What the fuck was she on? “Are you fucking kidding me, Bree? I don't understand what 'not fair' is like and everything is just so fucking great in my life? You must be fucking blind Bree, because look at me! Look at me!”
I presented myself to her, and she sat back in the seat, stunned at how loud I was. In the distance, I could hear the horn of a train blaring.
I imitated her for a second. “'Okay there's the trans stuff', do you even fucking know what that means? What the fuck am I, Bree? What is this body? I've hated it for as long as I can fucking remember and all the way through high s
chool, Bree, all the way, I was teased half to death because of it. It's not even my fault. It's not even my fucking fault. I used to shout at them, 'You think I like looking like this? You think I chose it?', but it didn't matter. And it doesn't matter, because life isn't fucking fair, and I can't believe you're telling me I don't understand 'not fair' and saying all these people are swarming around me when not a single fucking person looked twice at me until Henry, and then there's you, who ticks all the right boxes with how a girl should look and feel, and—”
“—and where has it gotten me?” she interrupted me, “Look at where it's gotten me. Here. Being shouted at by the one person in the world who I think is amazing. No one fucking wants me anyway—”
I made a frustrated noise. “Fucking hell, Bree! Do you even ask people if they want you before just telling them they don't? Or do you just bulldoze people like always and completely disregard what's actually going on for them?”
“I don't need to fucking ask them, Min, because I can just tell they—” She was cut off by the train thundering into the station and throwing a wall of air against the side of us. Her curls blew everywhere and she had to hold her dress down, but it didn't distract her even a bit. She just yelled over the top of it. “—Well, people would tell me if they were into me, wouldn't they? Or maybe not, like, say it, but they'd try something! But they don't! I'm 18, and no one has seriously—”
I took a step towards her, throwing out my hands. “That's exactly fucking it, Bree! You're 18! Maybe that's more of an issue for people than you think! Maybe people don't want to take advantage of you because you're so young—”
“Apparently I'm not too young for you to take advantage of!”
My jaw dropped. “You fucking take that back, Bree,” I ordered her. “I've never laid a finger on you!”
“Yeah, but you let me do all this stuff for you. You totally let me, and you don't even say thank you! You just act like letting me do it should be thanks enough!”
“You don't take no for an answer, Bree! What the fuck was I supposed to do? Take out an intervention order? Move house? Assume a secret identity?”
She narrowed her eyes at me and she fixed me with a really hurt, really solid glare as the train slowed on the edge of the platform. “Fuck off, Min, you already have one of those, and you can blame me all you want but we both know you don't need any help to run away from things you're not okay with. You're already pretty fucking good at it.”
I was going to fucking strangle her. I put my hands up to my head, breathing heavily. “You drive me fucking crazy, Bree,” I told her. “What the fuck do you want? Do you want me to be sorry that a girl kissed me last Friday? Well, congratulations, because I am! Fucking believe me, I am!”
As the train came to a complete stop and the station PA system announced its arrival, Bree just watched me. “There are two things in this world that I want,” she said bitterly. “I want my shithead brother to go to jail and never get out, but he won't. And I want this one person. Like really, I really, really want them, but they're not interested in me like that.”
I sighed at her. “How the hell do you actually know that person isn't interested? Do you have any actual evidence or have you just decided it for them like you always do?”
One second I was looking down at those big hurt eyes of hers, and the next, she'd gotten a hold of my tie—her tie?—and pulled me down on top of her. I threw a hand out to brace myself on the back of the bench so I didn't crush her, but it looked like she wouldn't have cared if I had. She wrapped her arms around my neck and hooked her leg behind my knee, and for such a tiny person she was really strong. She was so close to me, I could smell her vanilla shampoo and I could feel her body pressed all against mine and feel how fast and shallow her breathing was... and how warm and soft she was, and how smooth her skin was… and I responded to that. I couldn't not respond to that. She was gorgeous, and infuriating, and I cared about this gorgeous, infuriating girl so fucking much, and yet I was so angry with her and so full of adrenaline and I wasn't sure if I wanted to fucking tear her to pieces or just fuck her. I didn't do either; of course I didn't, no matter how much I wanted to. I just froze.
As a result she nearly managed to kiss me. Nearly. But this time I wasn't drunk, and my reflexes were better. Determined not to cheat on Henry again, I managed to pry myself away just in time, with my blood still pumping and my skin still humming from her touch. I stood back, weak. I was shaking even more violently than she was.
Finally, those tears that had been swimming in front of her eyes for last minute spilt over her cheeks again. “There's my evidence,” she said to me, sounding so, so hurt, and pushing roughly past me to walk towards the open door of the train.
I tried to stop her. “It's not that simple, Bree!” I told her. She shrugged me off and stepped into the carriage, standing in the doorway to block me from getting on, too. She was actually going to go home, I realised. She wasn't bluffing. Even though I was an inch away from killing her, that made me panic. “Come on, get off the train and come back to my car, it's late, you shouldn't—”
“I wish you really did care about me,” she hissed, interrupting me. “Instead of just saying all this stuff.”
God fucking damn it! “Are you fucking kidding, Bree? Are you serious? Do you actually think I don't? After everything?”
“Yeah, I don't, because just saying something over and over doesn't make it real,” she said, and then paused, teeth almost grit. “You 'care about me' like you ‘love your boyfriend', right?”
I had it in my head the whole time that I wasn't going to go where she was going, I wasn't going to sink to her level, but that... that just sealed it. “Adult relationships are complicated, Bree,” I yelled at her, “I wouldn't expect someone your age to understand. Just following people around and waiting for hours for them and opening their mail doesn't constitute a relationship.” I watched her jaw drop and the heart-break spread across her face. “It's called stalking, Bree, so forgive me if I don't thank you for it.”
She didn't say anything else, because the transparent doors shut and she leant against them, staring open mouthed at me for a second. God, the hurt on her face. The hurt on her face. I was watching the one girl that fucking twisted me inside out breaking in front of me and every single part of it was my fault. As the train began to pull away from the station, I watched her collapse on the steps just inside the door and curl into a little ball as she began sobbing.
No, I thought, as the train pulled away. No, no, no, this isn't supposed to be how this fight ends. This isn't where we leave it.
I ran after the carriage for a few metres, and then it was too fast and I gave up, staring at the back of it as it disappeared down the tracks.
‘…It's called stalking, Bree, so forgive me if I don't thank you for it.’
Did I really say that to her? Did she really say those things to me?
God, I... Did I really just…?
Her face. That final expression was burnt onto my retinas. She was looking at me like she just couldn’t understand it. Like she couldn’t believe I was saying that to her. But I was.
Fuck. I'm a monster, I thought fiercely, crumpling on the bench Bree had been sitting on. I was shaking. How could I hurt her like that? On purpose? Like... it was one thing to accidentally hurt her by kissing another woman. But... saying those things to her when I didn't even really feel like they were true, knowing how much they would hurt her? So they would hurt her?
I took out my phone, my hands shaking so much and my palms so sweaty that it was almost impossible to use. “I'm sorry,” I texted her. “Fuck, Bree, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean any of that.”
She replied quickly. “yes u did”
“No, I didn't!” I told my phone aloud, and tried to call her. She rejected the call, and then once more when I tried her again. “Answer the phone, Bree!” I yelled at it when I rang her a third time, and when she rejected the call and her cheerful voicemail recording began, I nearly thre
w my phone at the train tracks.
Resting my elbows on my knees and my head in my hands, I just stared at the asphalt between my sneakers. Why did we just do that? I couldn’t answer that question. I should have just kissed her, I thought. Then she wouldn't be on that train, we wouldn't have said those things. She’d still be safe and here with me and not bawling her eyes out, alone. God...
I didn't really know how long I sat there—whatever the time between trains was, I guess, since the next one was apparently due—when I heard heels clopping along the platform. I didn't look up so I didn't have to make eye contact with whoever it was. I just kept staring down at the asphalt on the platform.
“I'm guessing this means the rescue party didn't go too well,” Sarah's voice said, and there was a swish of fabric and the bench shook as she sat down beside me. I sighed heavily as I felt a gentle hand touch my shoulder. “Are you okay?”
I shook my head. I still felt weak.
Then, to my surprise, she put her arms around me and rested her head against my shoulder. Even more surprising was the fact that I did find it comforting. It was just nice to have someone do that, even if I didn't fucking deserve it. I wasn't going to cry, I wasn't...
“Is it too soon to ask what happened?” She said, leaning away from my shoulder and giving my back a rub.
My throat was dry, and so were my lips, and it took me a couple of seconds to say anything. “I don't know,” I said. “But she didn't deserve it.” I sat up, swallowing. For once, Sarah didn't push me. She waited for me to speak. “It all started off like a conversation and...” I shook my head again. “I don't know what happened. I've never done anything like that before. The things I said...”
Recognition dawned on Sarah's face, and she smiled a bit. “Been there,” she told me. “Not with Rob, he's a big teddy bear. But my last boyfriend... We had the cops called on us once just because of how much we yelled.”
I watched her carefully. “And he wasn't right for you in the end?”
Under My Skin Page 43
