I pull out my phone.
Red's last message stares back at me.
Red: Call me after dinner. Better yet, bring your sexy ass over.
My thumb hovers.
What am I supposed to say?
Everything I walked in believing was reality has been dismantled in less time than it took for one meal.
The cold edge I felt earlier sharpens into something more chilling. This isn't a simple disagreement. It's a line drawn. And for the first time all day, doubt creeps in about how far this is going to go.
Behind me, the restaurant doors open slightly. I know it's one of my parents coming to find me.
I close my eyes for half a second, inhaling the night air, bracing myself.
Mom puts her hand on my back. "Blue, are you okay?"
I slowly rise, and I might as well be inside a tunnel. I shake my head, and tears fall. I blurt out, "No. I'm not. I want to hurt myself until I bleed, and there's no way to clean it up."
Mom gasps. Her lip shakes, and she tries to pull me closer. "Blue!"
I shake away from her and step a few feet back, admitting, "Red's the only one who helps me, Mom. Not you or Dad. Not my siblings or friends. No one but him. And all you want to do is try to eliminate him from my life."
"Sweetie, it's not like?—"
"Save the lie for someone else," I cry out, then rush down the street with Mom calling after me. And I don't stop moving. Not until I'm standing in front of Red, sobbing, with him trying to figure out what's wrong.
Love might be enough for me.
But I'm starting to understand it might cost more than I ever anticipated.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Red
Blue arrives home wrecked, shattered in a quiet, dangerous way that makes my chest tighten the second I see her. Her smeared makeup, distressed eyes, and body moving like it's on a delay tell me she's spinning out. She stands in the doorway like she isn't sure she's allowed inside her own skin.
"Hey," I say softly.
Her chin wobbles.
I cross the space between us and pull her into me before she can decide whether to bolt or collapse. She goes willingly, melting against my chest, fists clutching the back of my shirt like she's afraid I might disappear if she loosens her grip.
"It went bad," she whispers, voice breaking.
What went bad?
I murmur into her hair, "I've got you, Bluebird. You're safe. You're here."
She shakes in earnest, then a loud sob rips out of her, violent enough to compete with a wounded animal.
I guide her to the couch, sit down, and pull her onto my lap.
She curls into me immediately, her face buried against my neck, crying hard and ugly.
I stroke her hair, count my breaths, and keep my voice low and steady when she gasps for air.
