Page 60 of Cruel When He Smiles

I don’t. I don’t answer his texts either, and eventually, he stops trying. That should hurt, but it doesn’t—nothing does anymore. Not the empty sex, not the bruises I wake up with when I let someone bite too hard, scratch too deep, or use me in the same way I’m using them.

Liam didn’t just break me; he fucking hollowed me out. He made me believe someone saw my broken pieces and decided to stay anyway. He didn’t stay, and his excuse was thatit’s for the best.

“Are you seriously going to pretend I don’t exist?” Sage asks one afternoon, blocking my way out of the house. His arms are crossed, expression set in frustration, but his eyes are all concern. “Because I can deal with your avoidance to a point, but this? This is getting fucking ridiculous.”

I sigh, rolling my shoulders and walking back upstairs. “I’m fine, Sage.”

“You’re not fine,” he snaps and follows me. “Fine isn’t skipping class for a week straight, barely eating, and spending your nights getting railed by strangers just so you don’t have to be alone withyour thoughts. When was the last time you ate something that wasn’t someone’s cum?”

“Fuck you, Sage,” I say, rolling my eyes. “Some people would call that a great time.”

Sage doesn’t laugh and follows me into my bedroom. “Last time you were like this,” he says, voice turning quiet in a way that means he’s serious, “you almost fucking died, Nate.”

My stomach clenches. Fuck, I hate when he brings it up. I swallow hard, looking away, my fingers twitching at my sides.

“You think I don’t know what you’re doing?” Sage continues, softer now, like he’s trying to reach me. “You’re trying to bury whatever the fuck happened, whatever’s fucking with your head. You’re just throwing yourself into every self-destructive habit you’ve got and hoping it drowns it out.”

I exhale, rubbing the back of my neck. “It works.”

“Does it?” Sage asks. “Because it didn’t work out so well last time.”

I don’t say anything. We both remember how my body went cold when I decided I’d had enough. The way I had lain there, numb and exhausted. The way I almost let myself go.

Sage is still watching me, waiting for some acknowledgment, some reaction. I sigh. “Alright.”

His brow furrows. “Alright, what?”

“I’ll pull myself together.”

I don’t know if I mean it, but I’ll fucking try.

Sage doesn’t look convinced. He still has his arms crossed, mouth pressed into a tight line, and there’s this flicker in his eyes that makes me feel worse than any of the shit I’ve done to myself lately. But he’s here. Still trying even when I’ve pushed him away. Still reaching even when I’ve dropped my hand. And I owe him something for that.

So, I mutter again, “I’ll try, alright?”

His shoulders finally drop as some of the fight drains out of him. “You better. Because I’m not doing this again, Nate. I’m not watching you disappear.”

I nod, just once, and for a second, neither of us speaks. The silence hangs there, awkward and weighted, broken only when Sage shifts his weight and clears his throat. “There’s a BBQ at the Sin Bin on Sunday.”

I blink, thrown. “Why the fuck would I care?”

“You’re coming.”

That earns a bitter laugh. “Yeah, no. I’m not exactly on the ‘hot dog and sunshine’ wavelength right now. Especially not in that fucking house.”

He doesn’t back down. “Too bad. You’re coming.”

I squint at him, trying to read whatever the hell he’s doing here. “Since when do you hang out with that crew?”

“Since Luca invited me.”

Now, I just stare, because what the fuck am I missing? “Seriously? Luca Devereaux invited you?”

He shrugs, but it’s casual in a way that screams how not casual this actually is. “Yeah.”

I fold my arms across my chest and narrow my eyes. “And you trust him now?”

“I didn’t say that,” he says, shaking his head.