“You don’trememberme,” I corrected.
There were a lot of things I should’ve done when it came to Blaire. I should’ve seen her in that coffee shop on the first day and turned around, found somewhere else to sell my shit. I should’ve looked the other way when she caught my eye. I should’ve slammed the door in her face when she showed up yesterday morning.
Should’ve. Could’ve. Would’ve. Useless words that did nothing for me now, besides fill me with regret.
Because I was now in the very situation I had tried so hard not to be in.
Alone.
With Blaire Fucking Barlowe.
Her eyes shifted, a fury long buried seeping out beneath her pores. “The first time I saw you was in the coffee shop that morning. I think I would remember someone like you.” She looked me up and down with the confidence of someone twice her size.
“I’ve seen you around the party scene. You’re a regular. I was surprised to see you in the café because that is definitely not what I expected you to look like in the daylight.” My mind flashed me a slideshow of Blaire, in tiny dresses, ripped jeans and cropped tops, flashes of pale skin that tortured me while I lay in bed.
No.
I needed to shut down that thinking right now. Shut it down. Turn it off. Bury it with the rest.
It wasn’t my place. And she would never be mine.
Looking at the way she glared at me now made the transition easier. If she had a shovel, I would’ve already been six feet under. Fine by me. I’d learned to be comfortable in a grave years ago.
“I don’t party,” she snarled.
I coughed out a laugh. This side of her was fun. “Okay, either you or your identical twin sister have been making the rounds at the parties.”
A crease furrowed between her brows, and I found myself wanting to wipe it away. “I don’t have a twin sister.”
“Then it must be you. Listen, sweetheart, I wouldn’t miss that hair anywhere.”
“But I…” Blaire shifted her weight from side to side, trying to find stability when I’d just pulled the ground out from underneath her. “I don’t remember any of it.”
“I’m not surprised. You’ve been pretty messed up when I’ve seen you.” I shrugged, trying to downplay the situation for her benefit.
“Wouldn’t I remember leaving my apartment, though? I would know if I was out partying all night. All I do is go to work and come home and go to bed. There’s no partying. Nothing. I’d remember that. IknowI would.” She glared at me, daring me to contradict her.
I sighed. “I know this has to be confusing for you. I promise, I have no reason to lie to you.”Except to protect you.“Depending on what you’re taking at night, no, you wouldn’t remember. Or if you’re already prone to black outs, well…”
Blaire’s expression froze, and I realized I hit home. She twisted her hands, the oversized sleeve of my sweatshirt falling down to cover her hands completely. There was something endearing about seeing her in my too-big clothes, something that made me want to hide her away from this world she had found herself in.
She didn’t belong here. She never had.
She also wasn’t great at listening.
“Shouldn’t I remembersomething, though?” Her voice was quiet, and it felt like it was all my fault, even though I was simply the messenger.
“It’s not unusual, to tell you the truth. Right kind of high will mess you up pretty good. Mix that in with a lack of sleep, and it’s easy enough to convince yourself it’s not real.”
She sat back on the bed, lost. I knew the feeling. I knew it too well. The brokenness.
The lucky ones broke cleanly in half. A piece for you, and a piece for them.
People like Blaire and myself, though, we broke the messy way. I remembered it like yesterday, the way the cracks began in my heart, splintering their way through my chest. Only difference between myself and the beautifully lost woman on my bed was that I’d had years to process my fragmented soul.
Blaire was at the beginning, and she had a long way to go. I knew I shouldn’t get close to her. It would only end in tragedy for both of us. But I couldn’t just leave her like this, simmering in her sadness. I owed her that much.
“Look.” I kept my voice as calm as I could, the way one would talk to a stray cat. “I know this is a lot to process.”
