Barrett isn’t pushing me to talk, letting me process everything in silence. I appreciate it, but at the same time, it doesn’t feel like Icanprocess it, knowing this confrontation is hanging over my head. I’m trying to understand how someone who told me they loved me, that I was their world, could let people speak like that about me, but I just…can’t.
After everything I’ve been through with my mother, I thought Dillon would understand me a little. I thought he might know that this very situation is the equivalent of one of my worst nightmares. But going off his messages last night, he doesn’t see anything wrong with what went down.
He doesn’t know you heard,a voice reminds me. I sternly tell it to shut up, because he shouldn’t have to know.
That conversation should never have happened in the first place.
I step into the elevator of our building and press the button for the third floor, acting as if my hands aren’t trembling uncontrollably. Barrett nudges his arm against myshoulder—a silent show of support as we watch the numbers slowly light up in silence.
I don’t feel any more ready when the doors open, or when I’m standing in front ofmydoor, knowing this is the moment that will make or break my relationship.
I knock on the door once. Twice. Footstepsthudhurriedly on the other side right before it swings open, Dillon’s bloodshot eyes locking with mine.
“Oh,Angel,” he breathes. “I’ve been so worr—” He cuts himself off when Barrett steps into place behind me, his brawny arms crossed over his chest. I look back in time to catch the stony glare he’s leveling at Dillon, who demands obstinately, “What’re you doing here?” My best friend doesn’t answer, and Dillon straightens, pushing his chest out, posturing, leaving me practically suffocating on the testosterone bleeding from their pores.
“Let us in,” I interrupt tiredly, waiting for Dillon to stiffly move to the side before heading in. In the living room, I look over at Barrett, asking softly, “Give us a minute?”
He tips his chin in a nod, stomping off into the kitchen. Dillon wastes no time, stepping into my space, his brows lowered and hazel eyes glinting furiously.
“What the fuck?” he hisses lowly, clearly trying to make sure Barrett can’t hear us. “You disappear in the middle of a night out, without a word to anyone, and hole up inhisapartment. You text me to tell me we’ll talk today, and then you show upwithhim.” He sucks in a breath, his entire body vibrating with tension. “This is…I can’t—explain it,Charlie!”
“Explain what?” I ask quietly, even though it feels like I’ve swallowed broken glass.
Dillon rolls his lips inward, hisnostrils flaring as he inhales through his nose, trying to calm himself down. “Are you fucking him?”
My brows climb my forehead, practically leaping into my hairline. “Am I fucking him?” I echo. “Are you asking me if I’m fucking Barrett? My friend, Barrett? The guy I’ve known since he was ten, and I caught him picking his nose. That Barrett?”
“Yes,” Dillon snarls, two high spots of color in his cheeks. “Are youfuckingthat Barrett?” Pain slithers into his eyes. “Are you cheating on me?”
I tilt my head to the side, acting as if his words aren’t digging in deeply. “Are you fucking Marisa?”
Dillon’s head jerks as he falls back a step. “What? Why would you ask me that?”
“Probably for the same reasons you’re asking me about Barrett.”
He’s staring at me like I’m a stranger, his mouth agape. “I don’t understand what’s happening here. Last night was a good night, so why did you just take off like that? You’ve never been inconsiderate before, but that was…” Dillon trails off, shaking his head.
My heart is racing, my palms clammy with sweat. I feel sick with nerves, but I know I can’t just let this go, not when their words keep picking at me, vultures circling a half-dead animal, knowing that if they keep taking slices and chunks, eventually, it’ll just lie down anddie.
I moisten my lips, dropping my eyes to his chin, unable to hold eye contact. “Ididgo to the bathroom last night,” I whisper. “And then I came back.”
Dillon scoffs rudely. “No, you didn’t. If you came back, we wouldn’t be having this argument.”
There’s athudfrom the kitchen, and he balks, realizing how loud his voice has gotten. His reaction just annoys me,though, because Dillon should’ve realized that talking to me like that would never be okay, even if Barrett weren’t here.
“I came back,” I repeat, my tone flat, “and overheard a conversation about me.”
Dillon opens his mouth, clearly ready to shoot me down again, but then he pauses. His mouth closes, and his cheeks go curiously red. And then, all the color drains away, leaving them a chalky white. He doesn’t want to ask; I can see that.
He does anyway.
Chapter 6
Dillon
She doesn’t look like my Charlie.
That’s all I can think about as she stares at me with blank eyes, her mouth pinched into a tight line. I didn’t see it at first, too blinded by embarrassment and anger when I first opened the door, but she’s in pain.
