Biting my lip, I stared at him. His gray eyes were stormy, yet determined at the same time. He was sad, but not for me. It was like he had this darkness swelling inside him. I could tell he wasn’t judging me; it felt like he understood me in a way. Plus, he wasn’t asking any questions. Even though I knew he probably had many.
Still with a heavy heart, I slowly pushed myself off the wall. “What kind of place?”
A lopsided smile flashed across his lips. “A great place. They make the best sandwiches ever.”
Apprehension made my stomach clench. I’m not a good person. I failed my friends and my family. Why would he want to spend time with me?
“Nathan.” He stopped as we reached the front door. “I’m not fun to hang out with.” He glanced at me with serious eyes. “I go to therapy,” I said as I raised my hands, hoping that would explain why I was so fucked up.
His lips twitched, and his right hand gestured from him to me. “We share the therapist, remember?”
I averted my eyes as my brows furrowed. “I’m fucked up. Anne is right.”
His hand grabbed mine. “Don’t do this.” His lips were set in a straight line. “Let’s get a freaking sandwich. That’s it.” He raised his palm in mock surrender when I gazed at him.
My lips were trembling and I teared up again. Swallowing the lump in my throat, I nodded. “Sandwich, okay.”
“You’ll thank me later, I promise.” He grinned and held the door for me as I walked out.
The ride was silent as I stared outside the window. I had fucked up with Anne. Really bad. Some days were okay. On others, the pain, shame, and guilt made me feel like I was at the bottom of a dark pit. This was one of those days.
However, the boy next to me wasn’t judging me or pitying me. He just wanted to be close. And I sort of needed to hang on to the fine line of hope he was giving me. I needed that. Just as much as I had been needing a friend when Farah showed up.
When he was around, I felt just a little bit calmer. Especially since he now knew about the scars I had been trying to hide over the last weeks. I felt like I could be myself around him.
Minutes later, he parked outside a fast-food restaurant. My lips twitched. “Seriously?” I glanced at him.
He was full-on smiling now. A gorgeous one-sided smile. “They do make mean ham sandwiches.” A small breath left my lips as I grinned. His gray eyes sparkled. “See? I knew you’d enjoy it.”
“I do have therapy later on,” I murmured as we got out of the car.
“I know.” He glanced at me. “Me too.” And there was that lopsided smile again.
That smile was contagious, mischievous and intriguing at the same time. It made my heart skip a beat. Or two.
When we got to the restaurant’s counter, he ordered an enormous baguette with almost every condiment on it. I wasn’t really hungry. When I said that, he glared at me and ordered a basic ham-and-cheese sandwich for me. He didn’t let me pay for it, arguing that I wasn’t going to eat much anyway.
Across from the fast food joint was a small park, so we crossed the street and sat at a picnic table. We ate in comfortable silence as I looked everywhere but at him. Awkward and shy, I wondered how he could be so understanding and nice to me when everyone at school always thought of him as a mean badass. Which he wasn’t. At all.
I ate half of the sandwich before I found myself playing with my food. I could feel his burning stare on me. Eventually, I gave up and met his eyes. His gaze was as intense as always, making me blush. He had already finished his food. My palms turned sweaty, and I started to trace one of my scars as I turned away from him. Gazing into the distance, I murmured, “Can I ask you a question?”
“Only if you let me ask you one in return,” he teased.
For a fleeting moment, my lips tugged up into a sad smile as I glanced at him. “Fair enough.” My mouth felt dry as I asked, “Why do you go to therapy?”
His shoulders tensed, and he averted his eyes, gazing toward the playground. A moment later he murmured, “I lost someone.” By the tone of his voice, I knew he didn’t want to talk about it, and I respected that, even though I really wanted to know more.
I knew losing someone could change you forever. It could either make you appreciate life or feel like you wanted to die. Thinking about the fights he got into and how lonely he must have felt, I could tell he could relate to me.
We were both in pain.
Silence reigned for a moment as I waited expectantly for his turn to question me. In a soft, serious tone, he asked, “What were you feeling when you did it?”
My stomach felt like it plummeted to the ground. I took a deep breath as I gazed at my scars. My eyes brimmed with tears as I recollected all the self-hatred, pain, and desperation I felt that night. “I wanted it to stop.” I swallowed hard as sadness engulfed me. “I wanted to stop feeling so much pain. I just wanted to stop feeling anything at all.”
His eyes closed for a moment, and I could see my words affected him. When he opened them again, they were darker and conflicted. A flash of guilt passed through them.
Hesitantly, he added, “Did it hurt?”
I nodded as a small tear freed itself. “It did. But I felt relieved to feel that pain. Like I deserved it. It was welcomed.” He leaned closer and brushed the tear away with his thumb while cupping my cheek. His eyes were intense and mesmerizing at the same time. I could get lost in them. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed hard. The warmth of his touch disappeared as he pulled away. My skin was tingling where he had just touched me.
His brows furrowed, making him look troubled. “I’m sorry.” His voice was soft.
“I know.” I blinked the tears away. “I’m sorry too.” I shook my head. “It didn’t solve anything. If anything, it made it worse.” I scrunched my nose before biting my lip.
Time passed, and we both stayed quiet, thinking about our different problems. I looked at him once, and judging by the way his hands were clenched in tight fists, he seemed to be having a fierce internal debate. His jaw was tight too, and his lips were set in a straight line.
I wanted to say something. I needed to. I wanted him to know I was there for him too. “I’m sorry for your loss,” I said softly.
I used to hate when people told me that. How could they be sorry? They didn’t know how it felt. But at this very moment, I was sorry for his loss.
I was sorry because I knew how hard it was to lose someone you loved. The pain and sorrow it brought. How the ache was so raw and the emptiness so deep your soul would throb and you could feel completely lost sometimes.
So, when those words left my mouth, I meant them with all my heart.
My eyes cast down. “My mom passed away.” I ran my fingers along the rough grooves of the wood on the table. “Over the summer.”
He was silent for a moment. I glanced up. His eyes were intense before he turned away. “I figured.”
I frowned at that and shook my head. In a soft tone, barely a whisper, I asked, “How do you know so much about me?” How do I know so little about you?
He stayed quiet for a moment before a small smile crept across his lips. “Unlike you—” he shoved my shoulder playfully, “—I actually pay attention.”
Playing with the hem of my hoodie, I grinned softly. “I think you should tell Amanda about your stalker tendencies.”
He snorted, then took a deep breath as his eyes roamed my face. “Yeah, maybe I should.” His tone was much calmer, and I could feel myself relax a little.
Tilting his head quizzically, he added, “So, what’s the deal with the redhead and you?”
Sighing, I grimaced. “She was my best friend until I blew her off to hang out with Marissa.” I shook my head. “She has every right to be mad at me.”
“Well, you realized your mistake now. That has to count for something, doesn’t it?”
I shrugged. I didn’t know. I really didn’t know if Anne would be capable of forgiving me for treating her so badly. I didn’t know if I c
ould forgive myself to begin with.
My cell phone’s alarm sounded. When I looked at the screen, I saw it was already past four, and it was time for my appointment. Time had certainly flown.
“You missed your appointment with Amanda.” He didn’t seem to mind as he shrugged. “And I have to get to mine.” It was going to take me more than twenty minutes to get there; so I got up, patting my jeans to get the dirt from the park bench off them. “I should get going.”
Nathan was watching me with a lazy smile on his face. “I’ll give you a ride.”
“No, it’s fine. I like walking, so that’s okay.” I looked into those amazing eyes and swallowed hard from their steady gaze. “Thank you. For everything.”
“Don’t thank me until I drop you off at the loony’s office.” I smiled at that. Together, we crossed the park to get to his car. “You know, it’s so lame to have therapy on Friday,” he added, shaking his head in a teasing tone while opening the car door for me.
I shrugged. “I don’t really mind.” I had nothing to do anyway.
His eyes twinkled as I gazed at him. “Try to change your session to another day. We could do something fun next week. With Chris and your blonde friend.”
“Didn’t you have therapy too?” I raised an eyebrow as I hopped inside his car. “And don’t you know people’s names?”
He chuckled. “So many questions, Taylor. I only know the names of people that seem interesting.” His eyes were piercing again. My heart fluttered as he closed the door and walked around the car to get to his side.
The car’s engine roared to life as I shrugged. “Well, you’re talking to the lame girl who has therapy on Fridays.” I wasn’t looking at him, but I heard his laughter fill the car. I gazed toward my window, a small smile playing on my face.
Being around him made me feel warm inside. Like I didn’t need to pretend or hide who I really was. It was nice.
He drove to Amanda’s office in comfortable silence. It was kind of neat how I felt much calmer than before.
“Thank you,” I said hastily as soon as he parked the car in front of our therapist’s building. I stepped out while Nathan grabbed my backpack from his backseat.
His eyes were serious as he handed it to me. “Therapy or not, there’s nothing lame about you, Cass. Trust me on that.”
I swallowed hard. Not from anguish but from nervousness.
Him and those intense gray eyes.
Chapter Six
The leaves crunched beneath me as my feet picked up the pace. It was a sunny Monday morning, and unlike most people I’d known, I was relieved I had to go to school.
Anything to get out of my house.
For a change, I wasn’t as sad as usual. No. Today I was mad. Scratch that. I was beyond mad. I was furious. I was angry at everything and everyone.
Especially at Marie, Mom, and my father, but mostly at me.
Friday and Saturday had been pretty much uneventful. Therapy had been difficult and sad as Amanda had asked a lot of questions about my relationship with my mother, my father, and my friends. But I liked her; she was really friendly and understanding. Most importantly, she respected it when I said I felt like the session was too intense.
Dad picked me up from Amanda’s office and surprised me with a few books he’d gotten for me. It was a nice gesture, and I was thankful to have something to do. I always loved to read. One was a dystopian future love story.
I spent all Saturday and most of Sunday reading. I was so engrossed in my book that I didn’t pay attention to Dad at all, making him tease me a few times. I stopped reading when he announced Marie was coming to dinner. For the second time.
I couldn’t help but notice how my father, once again, set the table with the fancy china and cut some flowers—from Mom’s garden—to make the dining room more presentable for Mom’s friend.
Silently, I peeled the potatoes and the carrots for the chicken Dad was making. He seemed happier and was making small talk as we cooked. Marie arrived at six sharp with peach cobbler and homemade vanilla ice cream.
My heart tightened as I watched her talking with my father as he mixed the salad. She grabbed his arm once or twice during the conversation, and my stomach plunged every time. They seemed too friendly.
Dinner was awkward and tense for me. They were both chatting as I played with my food, observing them. Finally, I couldn’t help but voice the question that was playing in my head all night. “What’s going on here?”
Dad and Marie shared a knowing look for a moment before Dad left his fork on the table and grabbed Marie’s hand.
My breath caught in my throat, and what little food I had managed to eat twirled inside me.
No, no, no, no.
“We wanted to talk to you about it.” I barely heard my father’s words as I internally freaked out.
We? There’s no we! There’s Marie and there’s you!
“Are you…are you guys—” my hand moved from him to her, “—together?” It came out as a whisper, and I closed my eyes because I knew the answer before my father voiced it.
“Yes.”
My stomach plummeted to the ground. Tears brimmed in my eyes as I looked into my father’s blue eyes. They seemed deeply troubled and concerned. I didn’t look at her.
I just couldn’t.
“Your mother wanted us to be together at some point,” Dad continued to explain.
“Not three months after she died!” I blurted out as my temper flared. My heart was racing erratically as I bumped my fist on the table.
“You can’t talk to me like that, Cassandra! Not you!” My heart ached at his words. Dad stood up and placed both fists on the table as he glared at me. His cheeks were flushed, and I stared at him in shock since it was the first time I’d ever seen him like that. “Go to your room! You’re grounded!”
What right did I have to judge him, right?
Teary-eyed and in more pain than ever, I silently got up. I grabbed my plate and left it at the kitchen counter without looking at either of them. The tears were flowing as I climbed the stairs and gazed at my parents’ room. My heart sank and as I reached mine. I closed my door with unnecessary force.
The sad thing was that he was right. I couldn’t judge him. Not me. Especially me.
Tears rolled down my face until exhaustion finally got to me.
I hadn’t been able to sleep until after midnight, so I couldn’t get up to jog in the morning, which made me even moodier. My mind had been playing with different thoughts, ranging from how heartless my father was to what a bitch I was.
In the midst of it all, I wondered what on earth Marie was thinking by being with my father. Had they’d been together while Mom was still alive? Did she always have feelings for him?
Grabbing whatever clothes were handy, I dressed after taking a shower. I was running late, so I decided to skip breakfast. Plus, I didn’t want to see my father, who was eating in the kitchen. I didn’t say a word to him as I walked out the door, acutely aware of his eyes following me.
Flushed from jogging to school, I leaned on a locker as soon as I entered the building. I closed my eyes and savored the feeling of being away from home.
School had been my home away from home for years.
Breathing deeply, I trotted to my locker to gather my things. Farah was waiting for me and smiled brightly when she saw me. She was also looking pretty in her pink tank top and faded jeans. Blonde locks of hair framed her face. My steps faltered as I questioned why she was still hanging out with me. I wasn’t the best friend or the funniest person to hang out with.
“Hi, Cass! How was your weekend?” Her blue eyes twinkled happily as I unlocked my locker.
“Awful,” I answered truthfully. It was the least I could do for Farah. She was being too nice to me all the time. At least she deserved honesty.
“Ouch.” She grimaced. “Sorry?” She tilted her head and watched me, looking concerned. “Are you okay? You know,” she said cautiously, “after Friday and all.
”
I knew she was talking about the Anne incident. “Yeah.” I glanced at her before putting my calculus book into my backpack.
“Was Nathan nice to you?” she asked nonchalantly, but I knew she was being cautious, itching to know every little detail.
My shoulders sagged at the mention of his name. “Yeah. He was nice.” My lips twitched as I remembered how he’d opened up to me.
Her curiosity spiked. “Want to talk about it?”
Gnawing my lip, I eyed her before shutting my locker door. “Not really. I mean, he brought me home and then demanded I feed him.” A small smile crossed my face. Farah grinned too. “He’s really nice,” I added, not really wanting to go into any details.
“Yeah. He seems to be. Chris speaks highly of him.” She rolled her eyes. “But of course, they’re friends, so that’s expected.”
We were now walking down the hall to her locker. “Chris seems nice too.”
Farah shrugged nonchalantly, but I could tell she was dying to talk to me about it. “What about you? How was your weekend?” From the smile that played on her lips, I knew she wanted to share what she’d done. I also knew she wanted to ask more about Nathan, but being the awesome friend she was, she didn’t prod more.
“Oh. Well, it was good…” she said, sounding unsure as we walked down the hallway.
“Farah, you can tell me. Actually, please tell me. I’m pretty sure you have a far more interesting life than me.” I tried to sound reassuring, and I must have, because she beamed at me.
“We had a barbecue with some neighbors,” she said dismissively, “and it didn’t sound fun, but I helped my mom anyway. And guess what?” Her blue eyes sparkled in delight. “Turns out that Chris is my neighbor!” I made a face at that. “Oh, but I already told you that. Anyway, he lives six houses down.” She smiled sheepishly as I shook my head, amused at her. “I counted.” She gestured with her hand dismissively. “But the point is that his father is friends with mine! His parents are divorced, and he lives with his father, who doesn’t care about him being kind of a bad boy and all. Luke seems pretty cool. My mom was freaking out about him, but Chris charmed her with his good manners, so now my parents are cool with me hanging out with him. Isn’t that awesome?”
Hopelessly Imperfect (Imperfect #1) Page 7
