Too Hard: Chapter 23

I CAN’T SIT STILL. The image of Blair—disheveled and broken, her clothes torn, makeup smeared, shoulders sagging—is ingrained into my psyche like a millennia-old cave painting that refuses to fade.

It’ll haunt me forever, along with this all-encompassing feeling ripping me apart. A feeling I know so damn well: the overpowering need to protect. Maddening concern. Bloodthirst.

Whoever touched her… whoever laid one fucking finger on Blair would end up six feet under if I got my hands on him now. It’s intense this feeling, raging like a thunderstorm.

Restless and fuming, I busy myself with mundane tasks to stop from barging inside Blair’s apartment and demanding answers. I discard the beer bottles my brothers drained, straighten the cushions, feed Ghost, unload the dishwasher… I do anything and everything that springs to mind in a vain attempt to push aside the worry eating me alive.

Did someone hurt her? Did they touch her against her will? Who the fuck dared to touch her? Why? Where?

Until about eleven o’clock, I’m hoping she’ll come over, but once midnight strikes, I accept she’s asleep. Which summons a brand-new reason to cross the hallway.

I want to hold her. Mold her to my side and chase away whatever demons torment her fragile mind. But I can’t.

She doesn’t want me there.

That’s not how this thing between us works.

One foot after the other, I drag myself into the bathroom, shower, then get in bed.

Not that sleep wants to take me. I’m still fucking reeling.

I shouldn’t be. I shouldn’t give a damn, but I do, and it drives me wild. Even more so because I can’t erase how easily she switched into this other girl. From displaying her vulnerabilities to shutting them off within seconds.

From the girl I want to spend time with to a girl I can’t stand.

Ever since she showed up at my doorstep when River was crying, I’ve wondered where this unfamiliar side of her came from. The girl who bakes cookies, wears jeans, and sometimes smiles with her eyes. She’s a stranger.

Was a stranger. I’ve not seen that girl once at school, and since I met her, I’ve wondered if it’s a front. A new trick to weasel her way back into the spotlight.

One day I’m certain it’s not a front, that the girl in tight dresses, flashy makeup, and vile personality is a mask, the next I’m not so sure. I’ve known the vile Blair for years, but it’s been less than three months since I met the caring, cute, beautiful Blair.

The constant second-guessing drives me insane. It’s scary to think she’s pretending when she’s with me, but it’s fucking petrifying to think she’s not.

I don’t know when sleep finally takes me, but I do know when it lets me go. It’s when the mattress dips, informing me I’m not alone.

The dim glow of LED strips illuminates Blair’s tear-streaked, frightened face as she perches on the edge of the mattress.

She closes her eyes, shuts them tight as if blocking reality, then swallows hard, her body tense. She might be bracing to say something, but the fact she snuck into my bedroom in the middle of the night and now sits here, steeling herself for the worst, tells me more than words ever could.

She needs this. Needs me.

When I mentioned leaving the door unlocked, I thought she’d come to explain what the fuck happened, not crawl into my bed.

It doesn’t matter what I thought. She’s here now. I’m sure it took a great deal of back and forth before she gathered the courage to come over. To put herself on display, risking rejection in the most intimate way.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, blinking her eyes open to meet mine, her vulnerability clear in the near dark. “I didn’t mean what I said. I… I—” She pinches her lips as if trying not to cry. “I don’t want to be alone.”

The turmoil whipping me into a frenzy all evening subsides. The world sharpens into focus. The fog and the static buzzing in the back of my mind dissipate, replaced by a clarity I haven’t felt in a long time.

“Come here,” I whisper, lifting the comforter.

More silent tears slide down her pale skin, her shoulders hunch, relief visibly rattling through her. Without hesitation, she slides into bed beside me, a bit stiff and guarded, unsure how much I’ll allow.

A whole fucking lot.

“Thank you,” she mutters, settling awkwardly on her back, leaving enough distance for another person between us.

She’s already in my bed. We might as well not build a pillow wall between us like teenagers.

“I said come here, B,” I coax, lifting the comforter higher. “Either your head on my chest or my chest to your back.”

She turns to the side, staring at me with big, wide eyes like she can’t believe the offer.

To be honest, neither can I. I’m stepping over the line we drew, the one she fights much harder than I do not to cross.

It’s so far behind right now I can’t even see it. And I should. There’s a reason that line was in place. Mia.

One person, but her hurt is enough to detest Blair. Enough to kick her out, bolt the door, and not give a damn but… Blair’s a puzzle. She’s more than meets the eye.

Her past is full of hurt, a sick mother, a missing father, fake friends, and her present… fuck knows what it is. From the little she said, the little I’ve seen, it’s far from good. Far from simple.

My internal battle comes to a screeching halt when, in a heartbeat, she’s on me, moving closer with such urgency she’d knock me over if I were standing. Her small body fits against mine, and the second I feel how fragile she is, every reason this is wrong ceases to exist.

I pull her into me, my arm around her waist, chin resting on her head, hugging her hard enough that there’s not a breath of space between us. My chest is heavy, my mind chaotic, but not one muscle feels tense. I love having her this close.

I love that she feels safe with me.

Letting out a long, steady breath, she melts into both me and the mattress—a clear sign she trusts me to soothe her.

And knowing she does… stirs up feelings I can’t name.

Or maybe don’t want to.

“I need to know if someone hurt you,” I whisper, my fingers spread over her belly, holding her in place so she can’t run. “If they touched you without consent.”

She’s quiet for a while but remains pliant with my thumb brushing her belly button. She doesn’t run.

I wouldn’t let her. She shouldn’t be alone.

“Not like you imagine,” she finally replies.

That doesn’t help me much. It’s an honest answer, but not clear, and my mind races, inventing more questions. Someone did hurt her. Touched her without permission, but not like I imagine.

And what do I imagine?

The worst, obviously. Anyone who saw her in the hallway would imagine the worst.

“I’m fine, Cody,” she adds quietly. “Karma’s leveling the field. I did worse than what I’m getting.”

A tightness settles in my chest. She doesn’t show this side often. Whenever I get a glimpse of this resigned girl, I’m fucking reeling. She believes she deserves all the suffering life has in store. She takes it, not even trying to draw a line between the person she was and the person she’s become.

“What are you doing, B?” I ask, feeling her tremble. “You want to be miserable for the rest of your life? Live in the past? Never move forward?”

She’s silently drawing a pattern on my chest, her whole body pulling taut the longer she’s lost in her head. I don’t realize she’s crying until the first tear puddles my chest. She swats it away, inhaling a shaky breath.

“I don’t know how to fix it,” she whispers, her voice full of self-inflicted torment. “I can’t.”

“No, you can’t. You can’t change what you did, but you can admit you were wrong. You can apologize and forgive yourself for not knowing things before you learned them.”

She burrows further into me, gripping the sheets and wrenching like she’s trying to transfer the pain ripping her apart. “I don’t deserve forgiveness. I haven’t done anything to deserve it.”

I gently nudge her onto her back, propping myself over her as I cradle her face in both hands, looking down into those tearful blue eyes. “You’ve done two of those things, B. You admitted you were wrong. You apologized to me and you tried apologizing to Mia. It’s my fault you never had the chance. I’m sorry for that.”

“Don’t be. I wouldn’t let me apologize, either.”

“Stop,” I whisper, brushing her tears away. “Stop punishing yourself. You’ve grown. You learned. You’re a better person than you were back then.”

She shakes her head, eyes closed to block my words, but both hands hold onto my t-shirt as if I might disappear.

“You told me about the bullying. You told me about your life. You haven’t made a single excuse, but I know…” I dip my head, pressing my forehead to hers as a pained sob rips from her chest, making mine swell. “I know you weren’t cruel for the sake of being cruel, baby. Why can’t you see that? It was a defense mechanism against your own hurt.”

“That doesn’t make it okay! The reasons don’t matter!” she chokes, moving her hands to my neck and threading her fingers into my hair. “I didn’t know I was projecting until I was older.”

“Exactly.” I drop a gentle kiss on her forehead. “And when you realized, you stopped. You learned. I said a lot of shitty things to you, B, but you forgave me, didn’t you?”

She slowly opens her eyes when I rise on one elbow, tucking her back. “There was nothing to forgive. I never blamed you, Cody. I know you’re a good person, and I—”

I press a finger against her lips before she says she deserves to be hated, hurt, and cast aside. She keeps saying that and it’s not true. No one who so blatantly admits their mistakes deserves to be judged solely on those mistakes.

People are the best defense lawyers for their own mistakes and the harshest judges of the mistakes of others.

Blair’s the opposite. She’s her own judge, jury, and executioner. She ruled herself guilty. A life sentence of sabotaging her happiness. Even though she doesn’t believe she deserves anything good, she’s not just waiting out her time. She’s growing as a person. Learning how to be better.

“You see good in me, but not in yourself? This is where you go wrong. You think your feelings, past, and everything you endured doesn’t carry any weight? That none of it left a mark?” I ask, trying to show her she’s being too hard on herself. “You’re not a bad person. You’re aware of the wrongs. You think you’re inflicting justifiable punishment on yourself, but you’re taking it too far.” I kiss her forehead, then flip her so my chest is flush against her back. “Enough, baby. Time to take a step forward.”

She says nothing else, but we’re both wide awake. The delicate aromas of the mango in her body lotion and coconut shampoo waft the room, keeping me eerily calm. I hope her scent will soak my sheets and pillows. And more than anything, I hope she’ll still be here in the morning.