Chapter 9 #2
“Because of how you treated me. Because I never knew. I can honestly tell you I had absolutely no idea.” My voice wavered and I cleared my throat. “God, you were so awful.”
“I know, I know—I’m sorry.” He shuffled closer, his eyes apologetic; he hesitated then pulled me against his chest. I didn’t resist, and I allowed him to hold me. “I’m so sorry.”
I blinked against the stinging moisture and just allowed myself to be held. One of his big palms petted my hair from the crown of my head to the middle of my back.
When I was certain I’d escaped the crying jungle of danger, I pushed against his chest. He released me from his embrace, but his hands lingered, still on my arms.
“This is nuts.” I sniffed, then glanced at him. “This is completely nuts.”
The corner of his mouth hitched and his eyes seemed to be memorizing my face. “It’s the truth.”
I shook my head. “No, Nico.” I licked my lips and still tasted him there—tasted our kiss.
“Nico, you may have felt something for me once, but that was a long time ago—eleven years ago. Believe me when I tell you that I’m not the same person.
” I shrugged out of his grip and stepped to the side.
“I’m not the quiet, well behaved Elizabeth Finney that you remember. ”
“I don’t remember you ever being well behaved.”
I ignored him. “I’m different now, and you….” I lifted my hand, motioned to his height, breadth, face, everything. “You are different.”
He leaned his hip against the counter and sighed. “I hope I’m different. I used to be a complete dick.”
I laughed and sniffled again then wiped my nose with the back of my hand. “The point is, my point is, you don’t know anything about me.” I shook my head. “You aren’t in love with me.”
His gypsy eyes lost their twinkle in favor of scorching intensity; likewise, his expression became serious and impatient, and his tone harsh. “You don’t get to tell me what I feel. I was the one left behind.”
I grimaced and clutched my folded hands to my chest where his words pierced. “I know.”
“You don’t know. You left.”
“Nico…I don’t know what to say.”
“There is nothing you can do about the decisions you made when you were a teenager except learn from them. Just like there is nothing I can do about the mistakes I made—the way I treated you, how I reacted after you left—except not make them again.”
I eyed him warily, not entirely sure that I wanted to know the answer to my next questions. “What do you mean? What did you do after I left?”
He exhaled a short, mirthless laugh. “Typical impulsive teenage behavior: I picked fights. I failed out of high school. I moved to New York, moved in with Milo, and was completely self-destructive.”
I wanted to comfort him—both the teenage Nico I left behind and the man who stood in front of me now. Instead, I clenched my hands into fists and watched him silently.
“I can’t be sorry about it.” He said these words mostly to himself. “If you hadn’t left, I might still be the jerk I was before. I did a lot of stupid things, but I learned from them. I changed. I’m different now. And I know you’re different now, too.”
I nodded, pressed my lips into a line, and glanced at the counter. Nico and I might both be different, but it sounded like he’d changed for the better, whereas I’d changed for the worse.
“But, Elizabeth, even though you’ve changed, I still know you. You’re brilliant and you’re—” he cleared his throat, “you’re beautiful. You care about others, strangers, and you take care of them. You’re still loyal and honest and generous.”
“I’m not generous.”
“You are generous. None of that has changed.”
“Nico….”
“You’re also stubborn and bossy, and you lose your temper almost as fast as I do.”
“Nico, no.” I shook my head, stared at a spot on the counter between us.
“You kissed me.”
“Because you’re insanely hot!”
He smiled. “You think I’m insanely hot?”
My head lolled to the side and I gave him my very best bitch, please scowl. “You know you’re hot. You could’ve had any girl in high school. You used to be an underwear model. So don’t pretend you don’t know that you’re alert level red.”
His smile grew. “We should talk about this in greater detail. What about me, precisely, is alert level red?”
I hit him playfully on the shoulder. “Really, seriously, you don’t know me. You wouldn’t like me if you did. I’m spiteful and petty. I’m immature. I’m lazy.”
“Everyone is.” He shrugged.
“No. Listen to me.” My frustration with his willful blindness was mounting, building itself into a skyscraper of aggravation.
I needed him to understand without spilling too many specifics that the Elizabeth he thought he knew didn’t exist anymore.
Garrett’s sweet, kind, pure, na?ve, wilting flower was a memory.
“The girl you knew, the girl who left you and went to Ireland, she doesn’t exist. Ok?” I glared at him through my eyebrows and pressed my hand to my chest. “The woman before you now is shallow, conceited, and selfish. I use people. I’m kind of a terrible person.”
He looked like he was trying to contain laughter. “How so?”
“You’ll just have to trust me on this.”
“I’m not that trusting.”
“Ok, then. You want to know?”
His smile was wide and clearly amused. He was adorable.
My brain melted a little. I steadied myself to tell him, but in that moment, looking into his eyes, faced with his smile, I couldn’t continue.
I didn’t want him to know. The thought of him knowing the truth about me felt like the worst thing in the world.
Therefore, the truth caught in my throat.
But it wouldn’t be fair to him. Avoiding the truth would postpone the inevitable. I needed to give him honesty. His eyes—those puppy dog, gypsy, soulful eyes—were going to keep looking at me with worshipful allegiance unless I was completely honest.
His eyes twinkled, his gaze caressed my features, and his admiration was practically tangible.
It felt like an uninvited third person in the bathroom.
When I didn’t immediately continue, he filled the silence.
“You can’t tell me that I don’t know you.
I see you. I see you better than you see yourself. And you are beautiful.”
His lovely words coming from his lovely mouth said with his lovely voice made my insides melt to mush.
Maybe just a little longer…. A traitorous voice that sounded nothing like mine pleaded from behind the curtain of my subconscious. The entreaty had the opposite of its intended effect.
I stood taller by straightening my back, picked a make-believe piece of lint from my jeans, and cleared my throat. I would prove to him that he didn’t know me at all.
“I use people.”
His confident smile slipped. He frowned. “What?”
“I use men.”
“What do you mean, you use men?”
I shrugged, but my heart was galloping and I felt abruptly nauseous. “I use men for sex. I pick a guy, have sex with him, and when I’m done, I toss him aside.”
I know I sounded heartless, cold; but I did so purposefully.
In order to save his heart, he needed to understand that mine no longer functioned; that after losing my mom and Garrett, I wasn’t interested in loving or being loved by anyone.
I endeavored to hurt him a little now because I refused to prolong his hope.
Nico straightened and crossed his arms over his chest again. “Explain.”
“Ok, then. I’ll spell it out: I pretend to like a guy and use him for sex. When I get tired of having sex with him, and I always do, I stop returning his phone calls, and I blow him off.” When I finished, I noted that my stomach hurt.
Nico watched me, a plain assessment, and his frown became more severe. “You haven’t…?” He shook his head. “When was the last time you dated someone you actually liked?”
“Garrett.” I didn’t hesitate. My response was immediate. He flinched. My hands were cold and clammy.
“Jesus.” He sighed. However, instead of appearing disgusted by my proclamation, his gaze softened and he shifted closer. “I wish we could have….”
“Haven’t you been listening? I’m trying to be honest with you.
I’m not looking for love, I’m not even capable of it.
I’m completely toxic. I’m a user. I have no interest in having a relationship.
I have no interest in men other than using them to play ‘hide the salami.’ So, see me, Nico.
See me for who I am, and not who you want me to be.
” I was annoyed by the lingering look of sympathy he was casting in my direction.
I rubbed my forehead with damp and shaking hands. “Forget it. This isn’t going to work.”
I moved to the door and unlocked it. I was unrepentant in my honesty, but in that moment, I recognized that a big part of me wished things could be different.
I wished I were different. He crossed to my position and held the door shut.
I tried yanking the handle, but he was too strong.
After several fruitless attempts, I smacked the door with my palm—a childish display of frustration—and turned my flashing blue eyes to his now stoic face.
“What?” Feigning anger was really the only thing keeping me from bursting into tears. “Don’t like what you see? What is it going to take for you to let me out of here?”
His face was like granite as his eyes moved between mine. He was still frowning. He opened his mouth as though he were going to say something, but ultimately, he moved his hand from the door and stepped out of my way.
I tried to make my face rigid, severe, and acrimonious as I tugged open the door. “I did warn you.”
I searched his expression for the judgment I hoped would be there and found only pity. His pity dually pissed me off and sparked my mortification. Gritting my teeth, I walked past him out the door and into the dining room where everyone looked like him, talked like him, and laughed like him.
I couldn’t wait to leave.