My Brothers Best Friend [18+]

Chapter Thirty Two

I had a recurring nightmare when I was younger. A version of me would be hanging from a jagged rock on a cliff face, fingers straining underneath the pressure of holding tight. 

That version of me would be wearing a frilly dress. She had been dying her hair blonde like my mother had always wanted me to do and she didn't have a single blemish in sight. Of course, how much can you see of someone when they're dangling towards their death? Maybe she did have acne.

I was looking at her as myself. Young, ginger, acne-speckled, and full off teenage hormones. I stood not ten feet away from her and she didn't look up at me once. She didn't even cry for help - her face remained perfectly pleasant, almost stoic. But her fingers whitened against the rock. 

My battered fake trainers from the local supermarket were laced up wrong and I distinctly remember the rage that lit a fire throughout my body when I saw her beautifully white expensive trainers wrapped around her feet. 

Hot liquid fire entangled in my blood. I'm not sure why - she was me, I was her. It was just shoes, but it was as if another force had taken over my body.  

The seven times I had the nightmare I walked over to her and pried her fingers off the rock one by one. Every time. 

My mother said it meant that I wanted to be prettier. I thought it meant that I was my own worst enemy, ruining my own life bit by bit. Finger by finger. I didn't date the right boys; I didn't pick the correct GCSE subjects; I wasn't a very good friend. 

The last time I had it I was still in school. University made me into a better person, and I hadn't thought about the nightmare since. 

Perhaps it's dramatic, but it's what I'm thinking about once the words have spilled out of my mouth. 

So you love me, huh? 

I may as well have pushed myself out of the car and into the middle of the road. 

Off the cliff you go, Madelaine. 

I'm hyperventilating. No, I'm not. I'm staying silent - I'm inwardly hyperventilating because I don't want to make a big deal out of it. There are sweat beads forming on my forehead and I want to wipe them away but know it won't be subtle. 

I chance a look at Noah. 

Wide eyes staring back at me reveal that it is a big deal. I shouldn't have said that. Fuck, why can't I just keep my mouth shut? 

I wish I was dangling off a cliff right now. It'd be less painful than the flush clawing its way above my collar.  

I quickly look away from him. 

"I-" He clears his throat. "Look at me, Madelaine." 

I jut out my bottom lip before grimacing at myself in the window reflection. 

"Hm?" 

His hand is hot. It turns my face to him in one swift movement and then drops back onto the gear stick. My gaze involuntarily flits from his eyes down to his soft lips, half pulled into his mouth. A sign of nervousness. 

I want to smooth out the worry lines next to his eyes with my thumb, or kiss that bottom lip out of his mouth. I do neither though, waiting for him to continue. 

I'm not sure what the bundle of nerves sat in my gut means. Do I want him to love me or don't I? Which one am I afraid of? 

He stares into my face looking for an answer I don't have. Then he huffs and drops his head back against the seat. 

"I fucking hate your brother," he sighs. "He does nothing but piss me off." 

"I can't tell if you're serious or not."