“See? Cool people don’t wake up early. I knew I liked the guy. He knows what’s up.”
A wave of nostalgia hits me. God, I miss Rhys. He always made the apartment so lively and vibrant. He loved to hang out and catch up while cuddling on the couch. I even miss the bad things, like when he left dirty dishes in the sink or his long hair all over the bathroom floor.
The apartment was so empty when he moved out. It was so quiet—too quiet. I’d wander from the living room to the kitchen to Rhys’s empty room to the bathroom and back again, neverknowing what to do with myself in such a big place. I ended up cooking way too much food. I had no one to talk to. I know he’s happier than he’s ever been living with Angel and I want that for him, but…
What about me?
Guilt hits me like a train as the question echoes through my mind. Whataboutme? I’m fine. I’ve got a great job, great friends, great life. So, the apartment feels too big for just one person. Find a fucking roommate.
Suck it up, loser. Deal with your own shit. Don’t dump your problems on other people. They have their own lives. They don’t have time to coddle you because you’re feeling a little lonely.
“Hey.”
I startle at the hand on my arm, spinning around to find Santino standing right next to me. He’s close enough for me to feel the heat of his body and smell the scent of cinnamon on his skin. His hair is still mussed and in disarray. There’s still some crusty white stuff around his eyes.
“Are you okay?”
The three simple words are like a knife, cutting through the delicate ties holding me together. I can feel myself falling apart, chunks of myself dropping away as my fragile defenses crumble.
No, I'm not okay. I want to scream it from the tops of my lungs. I haven’t been okay in a long time and I don’t know what to do. I can’t tell anyone. I don’t want the guys to worry about me. But I don’t know what’s wrong with me and nothing I do is working.
Maybe I could just tell him. I could let it all spill out like emotional projectile vomit. Maybe he’ll know what to do. Maybe he’ll be able to help.
But no. I can’t do that. I’ve known the guy for less than twenty-four hours. He’ll just think I’m crazy and run as far and as fast as he can. That’s what any normal person would do.
That’s what all your so-called friends have done, isn’t it? You’ve chased them away with all your bullshit. You’ll just chase this guy away too.
Is that true? Have I chased away all my friends? Is there something wrong with me? Did I do something to hurt them and didn’t even realize it?
I can’t do that to Santino. He’s a guest. He’s here to be in the documentary. He doesn’t deserve to be saddled with me just because I’ve got an empty room for him to stay in. He’s only being nice. He doesn’t actually care if I’m okay. Why would he care? He doesn’t know me.
I force a smile onto my face. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just, you know, mornings. Do you take milk or sugar in your coffee?” I spin away to dig out mugs from the cupboards.
“No, just black.” There’s a hint of caution in his voice, like he’s not buying my act.
So, I try to smile bigger. “Nice. This coffee is from a local roaster. They get their beans directly from farmers in Colombia. You’ll really taste all the flavor notes when you drink it black.” My hand shakes when I reach for the kettle and I have to use both hands to pour the boiling water into the French press.
Santino doesn’t say anything, but I can feel the weight of his gaze on me. He’s too observant. He sees too much. When I risk a quick glance in his direction, his eyes follow my every move as if I might spill boiling water on myself or drop the mug on the floor.
I don’t think I can stay out here any longer. I can’t hold myself together under his scrutiny. “Okay, so, um, you’ll want to let this steep for a few minutes. Then push down this depressor thing to filter out all the grinds—sorry, you know how to use a French press. Obviously. Anyway. Um, yeah. Help yourself to whatever in the fridge.”
I make my escape and run into my bedroom, just barely stopping myself from slamming the door shut behind me. I perch on the bed, gripping the edge with both hands. My heart is racing like it’s trying to beat its way out of my chest. My mind races, jumping from one thought to another faster than I can follow.
Wow, that was embarrassing. You’re such a loser. Santino’s gonna think you’re a lunatic. Everyone thinks you’re a lunatic. Nobody likes you. That’s why Rhys left. That’s why they all left.
In the small, rational part of my brain, I know none of this is true. My friends love me. Rhys loves me. I’m not a loser. I’m not an embarrassment. But the voice is louder than my reason. The voice blares on repeat in my mind until there’s no space for any other thoughts. It’s like a parasite that’s lodged itself inside my skull.
I dig my fingers into my hair and pull. I bang the heels of my hands against my head. I grab a pillow and try to suffocate myself with it, trying to block out the voice. But how can I block out something that’s in my head?
I need it to stop. I need it to go away and leave me alone. I just want to be happy again. Is that so much to ask? I just want to be the person I used to be before this all started happening. I just want to be normal.
CHAPTER
SIX
SANTINO
Um… what just happened? Hayden went from totally cool—or at least, he looked fine—to so incredibly sad I could feel it radiating off him, to freaking out and running away.
