Beautiful Boy

come with me

amara haven

"Nicky," I invited myself into his room, ready to push his buttons.

"What?" He asked coldly, not looking up from his sketchbook.

"Whatcha doing?" I dragged out, dropping onto the bed next to him.

He huffed and closed his sketchbook, "What do you want?"

"What's wrong?" I asked.

"Oh, I'm not sure, it just kind of hurts that you have this whole new group of friends," he replied, "What happened to one of our little pacts? Us against the world, right?" He said, standing up off of the bed.

"You have no right to be mad at me, Nicolas, you chose to cut me off," I countered, "In fact, you have quite the nerve being mad at me."

"Do I? And why's that?" He argued.

"Do you not remember what you did? Why are you playing the victim? You should be happy I even answered that fucking phone call, let alone fly to fucking New York close to midnight just to know you were okay," I stood up as well, crossing my arms.

"This is ridiculous," he let out an empty laugh, "Fucking ridiculous."

"What is?" I asked.

"That you're upset with me," he replied.

"Are you high?"

"I'm not high, Amara," he said with hints of venomous disbelief.

"Why are you mad at me? Did you expect me to sit and wait for you?" I faltered, "I mean, did you think I'd just happily sit and fucking wait for you to want to see me again? Because that- that is fucking ridiculous."

I hated fighting with people, anyone.

I was always let down by my anxiety, it made me trip over my words and fear the worst.

I felt my hands shaking more as I held back tears.

I did not want to fight.

"You had Leah, didn't you?" He asked.

"Are you kidding me?" I countered.

He shrugged.

"You're not the fucking king of the world, Nic, I don't worship the ground you walk on," I said.

"You did," he stated.

"Maybe when I was fucking twelve! And that was because I thought you were the only person who liked me for me!" I hated my voice for shaking.

"I am!" He insisted.

I laughed slightly, "You're not. Everyone at that table tonight is exactly like us. They're wallflowers who understand me and care about my feelings."

"I care about you, Amara," he said, avoiding the main issue.

"If you cared that much, you wouldn't have told me to shut the fuck up and never talk to you again, would you? That's not caring," I shouted, trembling as I fought tears.

"It was two fucking years ago, Amara! And I was high off my fucking face! Let it go!" He yelled.

I flinched slightly, his voice was much louder than mine.

"Let it go? Really? That's about as easy as telling me to forget about my Dad," I said, my voice quieter.

"Fuck, Mara, I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like that-"

"No, Nic, it's fine. I'm going to bed," I said, refusing to look up at him, wiping the corners of my eyes as I walked out of the room.

I shut the door to the guest room and let the tears fall.