“I’m asking you to talk to me!” I slam my hand on the ground, and the sound echoes out in the silence around us. “Just talk to me!” I repeat myself.
“I can’t,” he whispers.
“Yes, you can,” I snap at him, and he tenses. “You don’t want to.”
Brighton’s eyes darken, and his tongue darts out over his bottom lip.He’s shutting down on you.You lost this fight the second it started.
“I know about them,” I say, aware that it’s not my finest moment. “The Six.”
“Don’t you dare.” He shows his teeth—strangled, feral. His eyes are completely void of light again, and my heart clenches painfully. For a little while there, his stupid eyes were so reflective and blue. Now there’s nothing.
“Today, with your friend dying.”
“Rhea.” His voice is a warning.Stop pushing.
“It was too much for you to carry alone,” I say, ignoring the tone.
“I shouldn’t have hit that guy,” Brighton says. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s not about that idiot!” I point to the door he’s destroyed. “You’d rather do that then…”
He looks at the door and closes his eyes.
“But I’m right here, and you won’t even talk to me. I thought…”
Brighton stares at me, and the look on his face makes me want to cry.
I’m never going to win this.
“No.” He gives his head a soft shake. “I saw it that day, I see it now…” his jaw clenches. “You absorb everything from everyone, it’s exhausting just to watch.”
“I do not,” I scowl.
“You do!” He raises his voice at me, and my body goes rigid. “With your friends, with your family. You’ve been nurtured by this toxic need to fix everything for everyone, because if you don't, you might get in trouble.” He swallows hard. “I won’t let you fix this. It’s not yours to fix.”
I settle on my heels, completely defeated.
“Alright.” I nod, feeling like a burden.He’s trying to protect you.It feels a hell of a lot like an eviction notice. I push to my feet, my legs feel like jello, and I’m doing everything I can to keep from crying. I move toward my room with the intention of collecting a bag and dragging it over to Kaia’s, but I stop.
I turn back to look at him. “You don’t have to shove me away, Brighton,” I remind him. “This isn’t what scares me.” I point to the destruction. “Today—when you got that call—what I saw wasn’t grief, Brighton.”
His eyes are so blue it stings as he rakes his eyes up to mine, locking our gaze.
“It was jealousy.”
Recognition crosses his face, and his trembling hands flex at his side. He knows I’m right, and it’s why he doesn’t respond.
“You know what I said to Sunday?” I say to him, and he looks up at me. “When she asked why I like you?”
He doesn’t say a word.
“I…” I swallow the need to cry again. “I told her that you take care of me. Like that was some huge romantic gesture. She looked at me like I was insane.” I let go of a heartbreaking laugh that turns into tears. “Maybe I am.” I shrug. “I need you to find someone to take care of you. And if you refuse to let me, at least find someone.”
I don’t wait for him to speak because the chances of him actually doing it are low. I wander to my room and grab my duffle, stuffing it with just enough for the night. When I return to the living room, he’s gone, andit takes everything in me not to go searching for him. The worry gnaws at me violently as I grab my keys.
Just go. He doesn’t want you here.
On the way out to the Bronco, I text Kaia, and she responds instantly with a phone call.
