I shouldn’t care about the latter when the former is far more important.
But seeing her standing in his doorway sets me off in a way I don’t expect. My jaw ticks, heat creeping up my neck at the thought of the two of them… together. And all I can think about is how long have they known each other? And how far has this little connection of theirs gone?
Pushing out a breath, I shake away the thought, hating that I give a damn at all. And this is why her being here is bad news for me. Everything I’ve worked so hard to keep buried could float to the surface.
She’s a part of a past I’ve been killing myself to keep hidden. A past I carry more shame for than I should. Shame I hate myself for having. But it’s there, festering beneath my skin. Sam being here, being the only person to know what I’ve been through, makes it damn hard to keep pretending.
I can’t have that. Not with everything going wrong in my life right now. Not when finals and nationals are just in reach. Sam’s presence is a distraction—one I can’t afford.
For a second, I consider walking away before she sees me, before I have to deal with this shit. But the thought of her existing in my world again, breathing the same air, standing in this house like she has a right to be here—it makes me furious.
She has to go. Now.
My feet move before my brain catches up, and the closer I get, the easier it is for me to hear.
“Get out,” Mountain orders.
She doesn’t move right away; instead she sways a little almost as if she can’t get her mind and body to move as one accord. Finally she manages to stop floundering enough to pull the door close.
“Why the fuck are you here?”
Sam spins to face me, a mixture of confusion and fear writteninto her features. The moment her eyes land on me, she softens a little. Relief, maybe? All this time and she still looks at me like the girl who followed me around the psych ward, hanging on to my every word.
It’s fleeting… that admiration. It’s a lie, some false ideology that serves more harm than it does good. It allows people to put you on a pedestal, robbing you of your humanity so that you remain the version of you they’ve conjured up. It’s suffocating having to live up to other’s expectations when all you want to do is give up.
The comfort behind her eyes only pisses me off. And I hate her for it. Sam and her kind eyes have got to get as far away from me as humanly possible. I grab her arm, my fingers digging into her skin. She barely gets out a gasp before I yank her into the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind us.
She stumbles forward, twisting to look at me, eyes flashing with confusion, then anger. She jerks her arm, trying to break free, but I let go before she can rip herself away. Her sweater’s disheveled, her breath coming faster.
“What the hell is your problem?” she snaps, rubbing at her arm. “You can’t just—”
“What the hell are you doing here?” My voice is low, sharp enough to slice through the thudding bass from the party downstairs.
Her brows knit together. “What?”
I step closer. She doesn’t flinch, but I feel the tension crackle between us. “This school. This house. This party. Why the fuck are you here?”
She lifts her chin. It’s a quiet challenge, like she’s daring me to knock her down a peg. “I got invited.”
A laugh pushes past my lips, humorless and sharp. “Well, I’ve uninvited you. Leave.”
Sam’s spine snaps straight, and I can see the moment she goes from feeling familiar with me to pissed. Good. Maybe if I get under her skin enough, she’ll disappear.
“I’ll leave when I’m ready.” She stands her ground, folding her arms over her chest, plants her feet, and cements herself in place.
I step closer, looming over her, my jaw ticked tight. “Leave or I’ll carry you out of here myself.”
Still she challenges me, glaring back, her focus never waning. So, I step closer, and that’s when this tough act of hers starts to crack. Her face remains steely as she tries to hold on to the control she thinks she has. With each step I take forward, the more nervous she gets. First, she stumbles backward; then her arms fall defensively at her side, until she’s pinned between the wall and me.
“Don’t you fucking touch me,” she manages to get out, her voice shaky.
“Go home, Sam.”
“Oh… so youdoremember who I am? Why do you even care?” she demands to know, her eyes searching mine, pleading with me to answer her. “You’ve said nothing to me since I’ve been at this school, damn near treat me as if I got some contagious disease, and now you’re so bothered by me. Why? Why not keep pretending like I don’t exist?”
“You don’t belong here,” I bite out.
Something flickers across her face. Hurt. It’s quick, barely there, but I catch it before she forces herself to go blank again. That same fucking mask. The one I remember from years ago, the one she used when her stepfather got too loud with the nursing staff. When she’d sit holding my hand as we sat in that sterilefamily room. When she didn’t want people knowing how deep words could cut her.
