“How are you really?” she asks quietly. “Your body went through a lot in the last two days.”
I nod, mentally cataloging my injuries. “I’m ok. I’ve been through worse.” As soon as I say the words, I wish I could take them back. They’re true, but bringing Brent up in this place that was so filled with laughter only seconds ago is like throwing water on a fire.
“I hate that for you,” she says, covering my hand with hers. Her warmth sinks into me, but a stray thought, that it doesn’t feel as comforting as Micah’s, shocks me. “You’ve never really talked about him. About what you’ve lived through…”
I turn my head to study her. She’s shared some of her pain, the death and grief she dealt with after her father’s cancer battle. “No. I don’t think it’s something I’ll ever share with you.” I tell her honestly.
Her eyebrows arrow down. “You need to talk to someone, Holly. I’m a good listener, I swear.”
She’s so earnest, truly believing that she could handle the darkness that was my life. I slowly shake my head. “I love you. You’re one of the best friends I’ve ever had. But I will never share that part of my life with you.” I cover our clasped hands with my other. “Your life has been pretty blessed. You’ve mostly seen the good, and I’m so glad. But the things I’ve lived through…well I don’t want those things to have to exist in you too. They’re too big a burden for you to bear.”
A tear rolls over the bridge of her nose and down her cheek. “You need to talk to someone,” she says, her voice thick. “I’m pretty tough, Hol, I can handle it.”
I smile, but don’t respond. There’s nothing she could say to convince me to share. I don’t want her thinking about how weak I was. How much I let him hurt me. How awful the things he did to me were. That would be the only thing she’d see when she looks at me, and I don’t think I can take it.
She wiggles even closer, pressing her forehead to mine. “Promise me you’ll talk to someone about all of it.”
I exhale, suddenly exhausted. “I’ve talked to lots of people, Becca. Counselors, doctors, social workers.” So many that their names and faces blur together.
“But so much has happened to you recently, with Brent and now the fire.” Her eyes are pleading.
“Stop it,” I say firmly, done with this conversation. I let a little of the anger simmering below the surface bubble up, pulling my hands away from hers. “I’m a fully functioning adult. I don’t need or want you to be my keeper. Stop treating me like I can’t take care of myself, because I can Becca. I’ve been doing it my whole life. I don’t have to promise you anything.”
My heart is racing, my palms damp. It’s a familiar reaction. The same thing happened anytime I spoke up for myself in the past. But Becca’s not going to beat me for speaking up. No, what she could do would be so much worse.
She could walk away.
Decide being my friend is not worth it. That I’m not worth the trouble. I close my eyes, blocking out the hurt in hers.
I should take it all back. Smooth it all over. Tell her I didn’t mean it. It’s what I’ve been trained to do. But I resist the urge.
I exhale heavily. “I can’t have another person in my life treating me like I’m stupid. Like I’m helpless.” I carefully pull myself to sitting, mindful of my ribs, and turn to look down at her. “I got myself out Becca. I built a new life. And yes, I’ve had a crappy couple of months, but I’m still breathing. I just need to rest for a little while, then I’ll find my way. You have to let me. Please.”
She’s studying me, the hurt bleeding off her face. Finally she nods, “I hear you. I’m really sorry. I know I can be a bit much. Just tell me to fuck off if I overstep. Ok?”
“Ok,” I murmur, leaning into the corner of the couch. I let her apology settle over me like a warm weight. No one’s apologized to me in years, and now I’ve had two in as many days.
I like it, not always being the one in the wrong.
“Are you doing ok here with Micah? You’re welcome to come stay with us.” She says hesitantly.
I smile, turning to watch the guys. Most of the food has been picked up, but the guys seem to have stopped cleaning to… “What are they doing?” I ask.
Becca sits up and looks at them, choking out a laugh. “Picking up noodles with their toes. It’s gotta be another stupid bet.”
They seem to have divided themselves into two teams. They’re cheering on their teammate as he picks up a noodle with his toes, then hops it over to the garbage can, lifting his foot to drop it in.
“He looks so disgusted,” I say, watching one guy who looks like he’s about to vomit. I cover my mouth to hold back the giggles, not wanting to interrupt this bizarre competition.
Becca’s laughing so hard tears are running down her face. “That’s Jonas. Oh God, I can’t believe he’s playing. He hates being dirty. And the feeling of the noodles between his—“ We both break into hysterical laughter as Jonas gags, dry heaving as he grabs a noodle and hops frantically to the garbage can. He collides with Colton.
“Jesus, Colt!” Becca yells suddenly. “You have the flexibility of a rock.”
She’s right. He can’t seem to raise and twist his foot enough to drop the noodle, instead hopping back and trying to drop it in the can straight legged. He flips her the middle finger. Meanwhile, Jonas is still dry heaving, and some of the other guys have joined him, alternating between gagging and yelling at Jonas to stop gagging.
I honestly can’t believe what I’m seeing. “If you’d told me this morning that I’d be watching a room full of half naked billionaires pick up food with their toes…” I trail off, not even sure how to finish that sentence. It sounds like some sort of fetish porn. Becca seems to get it though.
“I know,” she says, still laughing. “They’re nothing like you’d imagine. They’re all so tough, so accomplished. And Ransom,” the giggle snorts are starting watching him take his turn. “Ransom is hard as nails. He scares the piss out of the rest of the world, never letting them see what’s underneath. The only people who get to see him like this are family.”
