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“Why?” He presses against me, his clothes rough against my wet skin. “Say it.”
“Brandon, please!”
“Say. It.”
“Red.” The dam breaks. “Red, red, red.”
He releases me instantly, the loss of his touch leaving me shaking, but I can’t—I won’t.
“Naomi?”
“No.” I curl into myself, enforcing a wall between us. “Don’t come near me.”
The bathroom feels too small, too confining. A reminder of how close I came to telling him everything.
“Let me get you a towel,” he says.
“Go.”
“I’m not leaving you like this.” A towel appears in my peripheral vision, held out like a peace offering.
I snatch it, wrapping it around myself like armor as I step out of the cold water. The fabric is soft against my skin, but it doesn’t stop the trembling.
“Talk to me.” His voice is low, calm. Like I’m some frightened animal he’s trying not to spook.
Maybe I am.
“There’s nothing to talk about.” I shut my eyes. “Please just leave me alone.”
“I won’t.” He doesn’t move closer, giving me space I both appreciate and resent. “You know I won’t.”
“What do you want from me, Brandon?” I open my eyes, and everything inside me flatlines. No anger. No hurt. Just… nothing. “To play therapist? To fix the broken girl? Is that what gets you off?”
He flinches. The movement is slight, but I catch it. “Naomi, I?—”
“Go!”
His jaw tightens, a muscle ticking beneath his skin. For a long moment, he just stares at me, something unreadable in his eyes.
“I’ll go.” He takes a step back. “But only because you’re asking.” His hand grips the doorframe. “If you need anything?—”
“I won’t.” I whirl around, facing away from him.
Another beat passes before he says, “Call me.”
I don’t answer. Just listen to his footsteps retreat, the soft click of the front door echoing through my empty apartment.
Food.
TWENTY-TWO
BRANDON
Fuck.
I fucked up. I pushed too hard, too fast. Wanted to break through her walls and ended up building them higher instead.
I pace outside Naomi’s apartment. Three steps left. Three steps right.