And it only makes me more furious.
“I’m useless. I’m weak. I’m breakable—” I take a step back, feeling like my anger’s moments away from exploding out of my chest.
I never know how to deal with it, how to make it go away when I’m like this. I’ve always been able to rely on McCraeto help ease it, but when it’s him that’s causing it—him who’s making me see red?
I’ve nothing and no one to pull me back from the depths of my own despair.
I’m sinking into a frozen lake, bricks tied around my ankles.
“V, you’re more?—”
“Then treat me like it!” I scream and stomp away, slamming my bedroom door behind me.
“Valentina? Are you going to come out, or am I going to have to eat this pizza and drink these margaritas alone?” Faith’s voice filters through the closed door. I roll my head to the side, the plush rug beneath my head filling my nostrils as I try to see beneath the wood. I slowly return my gaze to the ceiling, blinking away the tears pebbling in the corners.
As I release the breath I’d been holding, the last tendril of smoke spirals toward the ceiling. I watch the small cloud float into the wooden slats above, fading until they're nonexistent, and I close my eyes, willing the last of my bitter anger and regret to go with it.
Another knock fills the room, this one louder and faster, but I continue to stare at the ceiling, hoping to find some kind of answer or absolution in the grooves and knots littering the boards.
To my surprise, Faith pushes open my door with a unintelligible grumble. I refuse to look at her, far too afraid what she might see on my face.
Instead of berating me for ignoring her, she just sighs and lays down beside me.
“Are the answers up there?”
I hate that she always seems to read my mind.
“Not that I’ve found,” I admit.
She huffs a small laugh. “Does the weed help?”
“Want to try?” I offer, fully expecting her to act appalled and leave me, just like everyone else does.
“Sure, why not?” I look incredulously at her, completely shocked by her nonchalance. “What? If something’s going to kill me, it’s not going to be your expensive ass weed.”
I snort at that. I can’t help it—it’s the effects of the marijuana settling over my skin, making everything a little less sharp, a little less painful.
She smiles, the corners of her eyes crinkling, and then she extends her hand, motioning with her fingers in a come here movement.
I eye her hand. “I don’t want to be responsible for corrupting you. Everyone already hates me for ruining everything else. I don’t need to add you to that list.”
She smirks, her fingers wiggling again, and against my better judgement, I extend the nearly burnt out joint. “I promise, you couldn’t corrupt me if you wanted to.”
She takes a deep drag, one that speaks of experience, and I eye her with questions. Faith just winks and takes a second inhale before extending it back to me, all while holding her breath. Finally, she exhales, a grand plume filling the space around our faces, and she giggles. It’s a girly sound, one that sounds like children on a playground, and the hairs all but jump off my arms.
“You’re fucking creepy sometimes.” I take the joint back.
“So I’ve been told.”
“Does it bother you? People saying it?”
“Why would it?” She giggles again, finding amusement in my question. I don’t understand it.
“It doesn’t feel bad, knowing people find you strange or different or creepy?” I can’t contain the insecure note that fills my voice.
“Words don’t hurt me, Valentina. I don’t give them the power to, not anymore.”
My eyes find the ceiling again, and I begin blinking rapidly as fresh tears build at the corners. “I wish I was more like that. Words always hurt me.”
