“That okay, Mara, whatever you say bullshit.”
“What should I say? That I think you’re full of crap for breaking up with her?”
He tosses me the ball and I catch it, but not before it slams into my chest, his throw too hard and too fast.
“What about Alex?” I ask.
“What do you mean?”
I take a deep breath, my chest hot and tight. “You said he’s acting weird. Why’s that?”
“I don’t know—?ask him.”
“Are you serious?”
He throws his hands into the air. “Yes. Jesus. What the fuck is with everyone?”
His words, his tone, everything about him right now infuriates me. As if everything is just happening to him. “Again, are you serious?”
“I thought we were talking about you and Charlie.”
“Well, you think I’m lying to her and myself, so it sounds like we’re talking about truthfulness.”
His eyes narrow on me, his mouth dropping open a little. I throw him the ball and he catches it neatly.
“You don’t believe me, do you?” he asks. “This whole ridiculous thing with Hannah. You believe her over me?”
Hurt spills into his voice, but it clouds into my throat, as though we share it.
“I want to,” I whisper.
“Want to what?” He drops the ball and it bounces away, colliding with the bushes.
“Believe you,” I say.
“But you . . . but you don’t.”
I shrug and it feels so inadequate, Atlas suddenly too weak, the world crushing his shoulders.
“Why?” he asks, hands balling into fists. “Why? What the hell did I do? I told you what happened. She just . . . read the whole thing wrong, Mar. She’s pissed off. I can’t control that. That’s her issue, not mine.”
Each one of his words is a gunshot to the chest. “I’m just trying to make sense of it, Owen. None of this matches up with the Hannah I know.”
“But it matches up with the me you know? So, you have no trouble believing I’m some kind of sexual predator? That I’d do that to Hannah? It’s really that easy for you?”
I flinch, all the air sucked out of my lungs. “No. No, it’s not easy. I don’t . . . want . . .”
To believe that either is what I mean to say. But I don’t have the oxygen for it. Owen’s tone of voice is wounded and loud, but a cold calmness hums underneath all of that and it makes me feel small and stupid and awful.
Stupid little bitch.
My head is pounding, or maybe it’s my heart, maybe it’s my blood, my veins. All of me. My fingertips fizz and crackle, my ribs feel like they’re about to splinter, bone dust filling me up.
“Shit.” Owen is suddenly in front of me, his hands on my elbows, his body bent over to look me in the eye. “Breathe, Mara.”
“I . . . can’t . . .”
“Don’t talk, just breathe.”
