Page 108 of Your Fault

“Wait,” Noah said, wriggling away. “Are you okay to drive, Briar?” she asked, worried.

I wanted to pick Noah up and stuff her in the trunk. She was always worried about things that weren’t her business. Briar knew perfectly well whether she was in any condition to drive, and if she wasn’t, she could figure out a way to get home safe and sound on her own. I knew her games.

“Yeah, don’t worry about it. Go patch things up with your boyfriend,” she said, pretending to whisper, though I could hear her perfectly.

Noah smiled at her, as if they’d been friends all their lives, and I got in and hit the ignition, trying not to listen.

As Noah turned around to get in the passenger seat, I met Briar’s gaze. Her feline green eyes revealed more than I had expected, and I knew when I saw her smile that I had to get Noah away from her as soon as possible.

It was silent as a grave while I drove. It had been a long time since Noah had seen me angry, looking for a fight. I’d promised her that was over, but it was hard to leave behind that part of myself. I’d never been a good little boy, and when I saw that idiot getting close to her…

I cut the motor and turned to look at her. She was shifting nervously in her seat.

I pushed a lock of hair out of her eyes. She didn’t move, but her skin got goose bumps as my fingers paused on her earlobe. She looked at me, first at my eyes, then at my wrist. There was something strange in her expression. I took a deep breath.

“I got the tattoo because I wanted to, Noah. I like those words, and I like them even more coming from you. Plus, you’re the one who wrote them there.”

“Can I see?” she asked.

I stretched out my arm, and she carefully grabbed my wristand turned it over, exposing it. Then she traced the words she had written with her fingertip.

I shivered.

“I like it,” she said finally, looking back at me.

Why was it so complicated to love her? If she would just let go, we would be perfect for each other. If she weren’t so scared, I’d love her without any ifs, ands, or buts.

I pulled her toward me, but she pressed a hand against my chest, stopping me. She looked down and froze.

“Nicholas, no. We always do the same thing,” she said.

“What same thing?” I asked.

She looked away from my eyes and toward the streetlights in front of us.

“You can’t act the way you did over the phone and then come here like nothing’s happened and give me three or four kisses and then it’s all forgotten… I’m going to a psychologist for you, I’m doing therapy, I’m telling my entire life to a perfect stranger for you, and what is it you’re worried about? That he’s young, and that, according to you, I’m too fucked up for him to be able to help me… The fact is you’re jealous.”

“It’s not jealousy, Noah. I want you to be okay. I want the best psychologist for you, not just the first one who comes along.”

“You want to control everything, Nicholas, but there are things you can’t control. It’s my decision who I want to tell everything to and who I choose to trust. All you seem to be able to think about is how my psychologist is a man. But there are men everywhere! You can’t just keep me trapped in a bubble! You wouldn’t be acting like this if it were a woman treating me.”

“I just want the best for you! For you to fucking get better for once!”

Her eyes opened wide, surprised and incredulous. Then I saw the pain in them a second later.

Shit.

“To fucking get better,” she repeated, her voice cracking on this last syllable. I didn’t even have time to stop her from getting out of the car and slamming the door.

Getting out as quickly as I could, I caught her as she dialed a number on her phone.

“Who are you calling?” I asked.

When she turned and looked at me with tears in her eyes, I said, “Noah, I wasn’t saying there’s something wrong with you,” trying to assuage her.

“Get away from me,” she said, holding an arm out to fend me off as she brought the phone to her ear. “I’m not sick, Nicholas. I can’t believe you said that to me.”

Goddammit!