Believe (True Believers #3)(53)
Author: Erin McCarthy

“Whose fault is that?” he asked, and the anger in his voice shocked me.

Using the lower half of my dress to cover myself, suddenly cold and feeling way too exposed in just my underwear, I stared at him. He wasn’t making eye contact with me. “Tell me how you really feel,” I said, annoyed and exhausted.

I didn’t really mean it as an invitation. I meant it as a warning that he was being a jerk, but he sat on the coffee table across from me, his knees touching the edge of the sofa.

“You know what, I will, Robin. I’m not doing this again. I’m not. I can’t.”

“Do what?” I asked, not liking the sound of that at all.

“This.” He pointed up and down my body. “You almost died, and you don’t seem particularly upset about that fact. But I can’t be constantly afraid that this will happen again. I can’t live with another addict.”

His words were like a slap. “I’m not an addict,” I said, recoiling. “And I know what I did was stupid. I have no intention of ever doing it again.”

“You said that two days ago, too.”

That gaze was accusatory, and I shrank back, ashamed, but at the same time angry. How the hell did he consider this being supportive? Hadn’t he told me he would always be there for me? “Last night was one of the worst nights of my life. I’ve lost at least one really good friend and caused her a ton of pain. I will probably have to move, and I don’t really know how Jess and Rory feel about me. It was a terrible way to deal with it, I admit that, but it was an unusually terrible night.”

“So what, every time you have a crisis, you’re going to reach for the bottle?”

Ouch. That hurt. That just hurt. Even though I knew he came from a background of broken promises and addiction, damn it, it still hurt. It was insulting. It felt like he was lashing out at me, and so I lashed back, still physically ill and needing a kiss, not condemnation.

So I said, “Like you reach for the tire iron? Yeah, I heard about what you did to Nathan’s car. And that you started to beat the shit out of him but were stopped. Am I going to have to worry that you’ll lose your shit and wind up back in jail? What if you kill someone next time?”

It was so the wrong thing to say.

He exploded, leaping off the table and flipping it onto its side. “Oh, so this is my fault? Is that what you’re saying? My crazy draws out the worst in people?”

That was not what I meant at all, and it felt like he was purposefully misunderstanding me. “Calm down.”

“Don’t tell me to f**king calm down.” His hands raked through his hair back and forth with a rapid urgency. He paced across the room, his fists clenching and unclenching. “And you know what? I wish I had killed that ass**le who was raping my mother. I wanted to. Another five minutes and I would have. And I wouldn’t have been sorry. Is that what you wanted to hear? You want to hear that I’m f**ked in the head? Well, I am. There you go.”

Completely unsure what to say to him, I just stared at him in disbelief, my heart beating so fast I felt short of breath. I didn’t even know this side of him, and it was a little scary. “No one is saying there’s anything wrong with you.”

“My mother did. She always did. And I know there is. But I can control it. But not when I see the girl I love unconscious on the f**king floor!” He made a sound of pure frustration and kicked the side of the table he’d turned.

I was too tired to do this. I smelled like stale vomit and hospital antiseptic, and my hand still shook when I held it out. I didn’t want to do this. “Maybe we’re not good for each other,” I murmured, weary. “You said that when we started dating, and maybe you were right.”

Because all I was hearing was that I reminded him too much of his mother and that he couldn’t deal with that. Well, I couldn’t deal with being put in the same category as her. It felt like in that case, love was altogether too close to hate.

“What is that supposed to mean?” he asked, looking wounded.

“It means I want you to drive me home, to my parents’ house. I’m going to tell them I have the flu and I’m going to stay there for a few days. You can drive my car back here. I’ll get a ride when I’m ready to come back.”

“You’re leaving me?” he asked, sounding bewildered.

“You just got done telling me I stress you out, so this will be a good break for both of us.” There was a lump in my throat, and I didn’t think it was really going to be any sort of good for me, but I couldn’t stay there. Not with Kylie exiled to Tyler and Riley’s and Phoenix looking at me like I disgusted him.

“I don’t want you to go.”

Ignoring him, I stood up, shooing away his arm when he tried to help me. It was about an hour too damn late to be suddenly considerate. I was pissed and hurt and I wanted to be alone. Honest to God, truly alone.

Maybe I could finish what I had started this summer, figuring out who I was, in a safe place.

Without a word, I went into my room and started packing a bag, my head still spinning, but adrenaline pushing me through. I stepped into giant pajama pants and pulled on a tank top.

He stood in the doorway. “Robin. Baby. Are you breaking up with me?”

“No.” Exasperated and light-headed, I sat down on my bed. “Unless you want me too.” So passive-aggressive, but I needed a freakin’ bone here. I was tired of being the bad person. Worn down from the guilt. I needed him to say he loved me no matter what.

“Of course not. Unless you want me to.”

This was stupid. “Just get my keys. They’re in my purse. And seriously, Phoenix, do not tell my parents what happened. It will scare them.”

He snorted.

“What?” Enough with the attitude.

“Nothing.” He put his hands out, which further irritated me. “It’s just that you don’t seem particularly worried about the fact that you scared the shit out of me.”

“This isn’t about you!” I screamed. “This is about me! Me! About my feelings! For once, just once, it’s f**king about me!”

I’m not even sure where that came from. But it just felt like the scream I’d been holding in all summer came roaring out.

And it kind of felt good to get it out, to hear my voice, strong and loud again.

Phoenix just reached out and yanked my bag out of my hand to carry for me, and turned and stalked off.

“Thanks,” I said, and yes, that was sarcasm.