An old lady with a Pekinese and a gigantic purse is scowling at us.
I could refuse to tell him. But it has to do with him. Better if he knows, and besides… he’s a part of me. He’s… a boyfriend? I can’t define our relationship. Me, and Nate, we date Syd and are sort of attracted to each other, too, but…
It doesn’t matter. Definitions, and words don’t matter, not in this. He’s important to me. So I say it fast, like pulling off a Band-Aid.
“Your dad happened to see me at work yesterday. Now he knows where I work.”
Nate blinks, cocks his head to the side. “What did you just say? My dad?”
“Yeah. By chance, I guess. Came to get a burger.”
Nate’s face is losing color fast. “My dad. God fuck, West. What did he do to you?”
“Nothing. I swear to God, man.”
“West.” He grips my arm so hard I wince. “Tell me the truth.”
“Look, he didn’t threaten me or anything. Didn’t touch me. And hey, I’ll quit. It won’t be a problem.”
“No. No, I’ll file a report against him. I will. I’ve put you all in danger. Is this what got you all twisted up last night?”
I shrug. “Yeah.”
“Dammit, West, you’re a fucking bad liar.”
We’re catching the bus since Syd has the car today, and it’s already arriving. I just don’t know how to avoid spilling my guts out with everyone watching. How not to break apart telling him.
But he’s silent as we board the bus, his eyes boring a hole through me. The ride is tense, the air charged. We trek home afterward, and it’s not until we enter and the door slams at our backs that he turns on me and corners me.
Literally pushes me into the corner, braces his hands by my face and leans in so close I think he might kiss me.
But he doesn’t.
He breathes in and out, eyes closing. “Just… please tell me, West. Tell me what he did. Why you were so shaken. I can’t fucking bear it that he did this to you. I need to know so I can do something about it.”
“There’s nothing you can do.” I scrub a hand down my face. “Look, I’m… I’m scared shitless, okay? Scared he’ll find you, and that I’ll lose you, too, like I keep losing everyone. Cuz it’s all my fault, Nate. All my fucking fault.”
“What are you talking about?” He moves a hand to my shoulder and shakes me roughly, and I wish he’d shake me until it all made sense. “The people you lost, that wasn’t through any fault of yours. It just happened.”
“You don’t know anything.”
“Then tell me.”
I shove at him. Predictably, he doesn’t move. My breathing’s getting shallow again. “I can’t, Nate, I can’t—”
“The hell you can’t. It’s me, man. You know everything about me, every single fucking thing, all of my fuck-ups, all my sick nightmares. You know I’m filthy in and out, but you touch me. You’re here.”
That cuts through the gathering haze in my brain. “Don’t you ever say that, Nate. You’re the best guy I know.”
He shakes his head, so close I can see the flecks of green in the amber of his eyes. “Whatever. As long as you’re staying. I want you to stay. And I want you to tell me what is going on.”
I lick my lips, my mouth suddenly bone-dry. “Nate…”
“You’re not gonna tell me, are you?” He leans in, his breath feathering hot on my cheek. “What do I have to do to finally make you fucking trust me, man?”
Fuck. I’m fucking this up already.
Can’t tell him how it’s all my fault, always my fault, how I’m certain everyone who looks at me sees the stain on me, the reason I can’t be accepted, can’t be loved.