"That's not true. Just ask him; he'll tellyou—"
"He'll lie," I say. "He lied about his name—he lies all the time. He's very good at it. He probably told all the other guys and girls with his art permanently etched into their skin that they were different, too, didn't he? Did you feel bad for them at all?"
"No. I just wanted them to go away." Huffing, I shake my head. "But Saige, it wasn't like this; that's what I'm telling you. I know what he said, and I know that it hurt you, but I know him. I know it's real—I can tell the difference. Can't you?"
I choke on a sob. "No." I sniffle before tears run down my cheeks. "I can't—I really can't tell the difference anymore. That's why I can't be around him. I'm not thinking clearly."
I'm really not thinking clearly, because it hurts so much to admit the truth, and if he walked in right now, I'd want nothing more than to climb into his lap, wrap my arms around him, and soak up every lie that comes out of his mouth while he soothes me into believing he cares about me—that I'm his princess, not a toy, and the three of us are going to live happily ever after.
If I were thinking clearly, I would tell myself what I've known for a long time now—that things like that aren't real, and they definitely aren't for people like me. But my brain needed something else to cope with everything that happened, and so I slipped into this instead.
I let myself think he loved me. But love doesn't look like this.
"Let me go get my stuff, and we'll go out, okay? We'll get out of the house, get something to eat, a couple of drinks, and we can talk about it more, if you want. Maybe you'll feel better then."
"But you won'tcall him?"
"I think we should call him, but I won't if you don't want me to."
"Okay."
I know I won't want him to.
"I'll be right back."
Nolan leans in and kisses me, but the second his tongue slips past my lips, something changes. He grabs my shoulders with both hands and pushes me off of him.
He shoves me with so much force that I fall backward off the couch, hitting my head hard on the coffee table. For a few seconds, everything goes dark. I turn onto my side, curling up in a ball on the floor, facing the sofa.
"Ow," I cry. I press my hand to the throbbing right side of my head, and when I pull it away, it's wet with blood. "Why'd you do that?"
What the fuck is going on?I think while I cry on the floor.Was he lying, too? Is he angry because of the things I said? Is he going to kill me?
I can't see him, but I hear him pacing the floor behind me. Part of me wonders if I should expect another blow. Maybe he'll hit me again…or stab me.
If that's the case, I'd rather he just get it over with.
"I'm bleeding," I sob. "It hurts so bad."
"Fuck…" he says finally. I can hear the panic in his tone as he paces behind me. "I'm sorry, Saige. I'm so sorry. It doesn't look like you need stitches; head wounds just bleed a lot, okay?"
"What?"
"I just need a minute. I need a minute, and I'll be right back. Just…stay there, okay? I'm so fucking sorry."
"Where are you going? What are you going to do?"
He repeats that he's sorry a few more times before I hear his footsteps on the staircase and then a door slamming.
He just went to his room. And left me here like this.
I lie there for another minute or so while my head pounds, trying to figure out what I did wrong. Buthekissedme, didn't he? I didn't touch him.
When I finally pull myself up from the floor, I stumble toward the door, grab my backpack, and leave.
20
unsafe person
