Page 84 of Getting It Twisted
My lips stretch into a hopelessly happy smile with the memory of last night. Now that I’m sober, yesterday’s confession feels distant and jumbled up in my mind. I remember crying a whole lot. My face feels puffy and my eyes sore and dry. I remember us hugging. I remember him telling me that . . . that he loves me.
Heat rises to my cheeks. Sure, I can joke about it, especially to tick George off. But to hear it from his own mouth and as sincerely as last night . . . That’s different.
No one has ever loved me. Not my grandfather, not my mom. People can love me for a short while, sure, like when I’m cracking a spot-on joke or when they’re balls-deep inside of me.
But I know that’s not what Daniel meant. He wouldn’t use that tone of voice if he weren’t sincere. Daniel’s not like me; he wouldn’t lie, and he doesn’t play games. Right?
At least he didn’t say it just so he could get me home and fuck me; otherwise, he would’ve done it already, and as muddled as my memory is, I don’t remember us having sex last night. All he did was help me out of my clothes, put me to bed, and wrap me in his strong embrace.
He brought me here to take care of me. To let me sleep off my days-long bender. Speaking of a hangover: Despite my wickedly dry mouth and my pounding head, I don’t feel all that bad. I do feel hungry though. My gut is like a black hole, ready to swallow just about anything.
I sit up from the bed, but before my feet land on the floor, a hand grabs my arm and pulls me back.
“How are you feeling?” Daniel asks.
“Starving. And thirsty as hell.”
He hands me a bottle of water. “Here.”
I chug a couple of mouthfuls and glance at him, unable to hide the suspicion on my face.
“Now that you’re sober,” he says, “we need to talk.”
There it is.
“Talk? We talked forever last night, didn’t we?”
“Yeah, but not about this.” He sits up and gestures for me to sit next to him. “Not about the grad party.”
My face goes blank save for a slow, sarcastic tilt to my mouth. Here it goes—my final line of defense. My last-ditch attempt at keeping him away. “What’s there to talk about? You had a good time, didn’t you?”
He shakes his head, a pained crease between his brows. “You needed me to take care of you and take you away from that place, but I didn’t save you that night. I wasn’t any better than Eric andTyler. I hurt you, and I didn’t understand, and I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
I shrug, glancing to the side. “It’s fine though. I’m over it.”
“Clearly you’re not, and even if you were, it’s not fine.” He grabs my hands and envelops them with his own. “I’m so sorry, Nathan. I’m sorry I let you down. I wish I could do it over. I wish I could turn back time and know then what I do now, but I can’t.”
“You didn’t let me down.”
“I did. Please tell me I did. If I didn’t, it just means you didn’t expect better from me.”
“It’s not that simple.”
He smiles a bitter smile. “Well, at least one thing became simple after that night: You didn’t feel the same for me as I felt for you. I was in love with you, and you treated me like I was dirt. We were supposed to be friends, and I ruined it—I know I did. But you hurt me too. You gotta know you hurt me too.”
“I’ve already told you; Idoknow that, and I’m sorry, okay? And that other stuff is fine, I—”
“It’s not fine. And you leaving me for five years proves you didn’t think it was fine either.”
My lower lip trembles. Why? Why do I feel like crying all of a sudden? I wept enough last night. I wept enough for a lifetime.
“Tell me I hurt you,” Daniel says.
I nod, afraid I’ll break into tears if I talk.
“Say it.”
“You hurt me,” I whisper, swallowing against the thickness in my throat.