𝐋𝐢𝐚𝐫, 𝐋𝐢𝐚𝐫 | 𝐉𝐉 𝐌𝐚𝐲𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐤

18. peg the patriarchy. (pt.2.)

E I G H T E E N

peg the patriarchy.

"I know I'm a terrible person, bu—" I try and get the word vomit going because Sarah told me that seems to be the only way I'll talk about my feelings.

"I never said that, and I don't think that." He shakes his head. Leant back in a stained sofa that was dragged outside, he looks comfortable, but not overly stoned. It's probably his first of the day.

I take a shaky breath, he can probably see my heart beating through my temple. "Sorry, the whole thing blurred together a little," I mumble. Trying to find a good place to start that doesn't immediately get me cut off.

My mind goes blank.

"I'm sorry, I can't figure out where I started with Sarah," I scrunch my eyebrows together, racking through the conversation I had all of half an hour ago.

"Don't freak out, you look like you're freaking out," he tells me bluntly. He sounds mad, I think? I don't know why I took the damm Xanax, I'm now anxiously relaxed. "You don't need to explain yourself."

I shake my head and sit up, "No. I do. Because the general consensus is that I fucked up, and I don't want to fuck it all up irreparably and then die sad and alone with forty dogs because I never figured out how to tell someone I like them, because that's ridiculous. And I shouldn't let awful men dictate the way I act around men who aren't awful, because that only gives them more power. Does that make sense? Because I'm confused. I don't think that makes any sense. Should I go over that bit again?"

"It makes sense, you're good." He nods.

"Okay, yep. Good. So, back to the main points—I should've written them down, but I can't remember them. Fuck." I look down at my phone, "Can I call Sarah? She has an awful memory but she seemed to like m—"

"You're freaking out again," he stops me.

I stop trying to go for my phone, "Yes. I am. I cried a lot—"

"I didn't mean to make you cry, that was really not the point," he runs a stressed hand through his hair. This really isn't going well.

"No, no. It's okay, it was good crying, like, productive I think. I don't mean to be mean to you, I just get a little defensive and it tends to happen to people that make me nervous. And you make me very nervous when you try and change things because I'm not good at change. When I finally spat out that I liked Rafe, he went from being genuinely nice—in hindsight, it was more love bombing, but I digress—he flipped and turned into the Rafe we now know." I feel my eyes burning, but I so desperately do not want to cry, so some manic blinking wards the tears away.

"So I didn't want to admit anything to you because I don't want things to change. I really like you, I think you're funny and while the initial portion of us knowing each other wasn't great; the habitual cheating and all that. Right now, well, before yesterday afternoon, it felt good. Like actually good, not me trying to convince myself it felt good because my family is in debt. Because you're not someone who's going to benefit my family monetarily—that's offensive, I'm not trying to be," I stop myself.

"You're fine, I get what you mean."

I nod and tuck all the hair that's fallen out of my ponytail behind my ears, "Right. And all the people in my life with good taste—including you—hated Rafe, Rake, whatever you want to call him. But my brother convinced my Mum that despite you getting arrested, you're a good person. So, all this tangent to say, I do like you and I'm sorry I'm emotionally stunted. And kinda fucked up. And scared of men getting close to me which poses difficulties."