Growing Up and Other Tall Tales

Chapter 79

Nick's face is momentarily shocked before it reverts back to its callous neutrality.

"Hey," I smile a little and immediately deflate when it is not reciprocated. He crosses his arm and leans against the door staring down at me disinterestedly.

I take a shaky breath before trying again,

"I have pizza and movies," I weakly hold up both my palms occupied by said items with a little helpless shrug. He doesn't even look at them. And it maybe takes a hammer to my heart.

"I'm going out," he says looking me clean in the eye, cold and empty. Sure enough, the familiar jingle of his car keys is heard when he turns around to look the door as though he expected me to take the chance to run away. It hurts exactly like it should.

"Oh, um, okay," I go for another pathetic smile and step a little down the porch so Nick can walk past me

His shoulder barely brushes past mine as he walks around me, without sparing a glance, towards his car. Both my arms come to my side tired from holding up the pizza and the movies expectantly for so long. The car perks up with a noise as he presses the button that unlocks it and he opens the door—

"I'm sorry," and he pauses. He still doesn't turn back to look at me, but he pauses and I latch onto that desperately

"Just listen to me," I swallow the hard clog in my throat and realized how parched my words are, "Please,"

His fingers slowly begin to tap on the roof of the car

"I didn't tell you about—anything, because I—I didn't want to—you to deal with my luggage as well,"

"As well?" he almost hisses incredulously

I hesitate before. "Yeah. You were going through enough on your own, I didn't want to pile mine." I take a deep ragged breath, "I thought I had it under control—I thought I could take it—"

He turns around and slams the car door shut and the loud sound that echoed through the emptying street makes me jolt a little. He strides up to me and I try really hard to read his face.

"I've given you everything," he holds up his index finger and grits his teeth in an attempt to not yell, "I've told you everything. I trusted you with everything,"

I don't say anything.

"But you can't do the same," he brings his hand down and looks me up and down almost distastefully, "I hate that you are so closed off. I hate it. I hate that you won't let me in. I hate that you don't trust me."

"But I do," there's something raw that tears out of my voice, something choked and strangled with tears, "I do, I do, I do."

He shakes his head and drives his right hand through it unbelievingly.

"You were going through so much," I say again, "With Amy, with your mom—"

"With my mom?" he spits out, "Fuck you Lyra. Fuck you and your hero complex. You think you are so fucking amazing holding everything back in, hurting alone, because you wouldn't hurt me? You'd think I'd be happy to find out that my best-friend, my fucking world since I was like fucking five, is suffering alone because I'm too messed up to help her."

"I—"

"I get a fucking say in it." his voice rises. "Not trusting me is one thing. But if you didn't say anything to—not, what, overbear me, that is bullshit,"

I'm too taken aback by how angry he sounds to really defend myself.

"You don't get to decide that I'm too messed up to help. You don't get to make that choice for me."

I look down and,

"I'm sorry,"

"Fuck you," he whispers spitefully with narrowed eyes

"Please don't walk out on me," the tears are streaking down my face in competitive and crowded tracks and I'm grateful for the low lights dropping scattered shadows all over my face concealing its fear and panic

He scoffs and turns away walking to his car.

"Nick," I call out unable to lift my feet rooted into the cement of his porch to go after him, to pull him back, and never let him leave, "Please, I—please."

"Go home, Lyra," he says over his shoulder

There is a deep sound distraught and painful that claws itself out of the depths of my chest that halts him.

"I can't," I don't really decipher what I'm saying as the sobs that I choke on muffle the audio of my own voice, "I can take everyone walking away from me. But not you, not you. Ple—please, please, come back. I'm s-so sor—sorry."

Through a blurred vision, I think I see him turn around slowly.

"I don't care what—what is taken from m-me. I've a—always had you. I-I, p-please don't send me a-away," I sniff into my shoulder

"Lyra—"

"I'm so sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry." There are only chatters of fragments of nonsense sprouting out of my mouth, "I don't want to lose you, I don't wanna, I don't wanna. Please—"

"Lyra stop,"

"I know I don't deserve it. I've been a h-horrible, horrible friend. And I—should jus—please, please, don't hate me,"

"Lyra, fucking stop. Please."

His swearing only makes me cry harder.

"I swear to god—" and the pizza and the movies are plucked out of my hands and I'm pushed into Nick's chest. And it's familiar, and it's safe and comfortable. And I think that just makes me cry more. That is until—

"Wait," I tilt my head up and blink through my tears to see Nick's face reddened and scarred with huge droplets of tears, "Why—why are you crying?"

"Because you are crying stupid," he chokes out sniffling, "And I am very emotional person."

"I—why?"

"Because I love you," he flicks my forehead before another cluster brims at the corners of his eyes and cascades down his face. His eyes thaw.

"I could never hate you. Ever. And you are never, ever, ever going to lose me. I don't know who I was kidding, to be honest."

His hands are stroking my hair in a soft, slow pace trying to calm me down, so I follow the pace of his drumming against my scalp.

"I love you," he digs his chin down into the top of my head

"I love you too," I mumble into his chest

"And I know you fucked up. But I forgive you and we can move past this. Okay?"

And all I can think of is thank god.

"Okay," I nod and he chuckles throatily, still crying, into my hair. He places a gentle kiss against my forehead where he flicked me as if to diffuse the pain he playfully inflicted.

"Can we have pizza now?" he asks, "My stomach feels as empty as your soul,"

"You always get poetic when you are hungry," I tell him

"I am a starving artist."