My Better Half (Sequel to My Cup of Tea)

Chapter Eighteen

Prepare yourselves. Beginning of...well, the beginning of something.
Also: I was like "I'll pace myself. I'll
Post a chapter a day!"
Merry Fucking Christmas, I guess :)

-biblio.

Simon's tears had subsided by the time Baz's car pulled up, but then they started all over again when Baz lowered his window and glared at him.

"Get in," he sneered.

Simon nodded and got into the car, shutting the door softly behind him.

He wasn't sure how this was supposed to go. Would Baz yell at him? Should he yell at Baz? All he knew was that Baz was mad. He could tell from the way he gripped the steering wheel––he gripped it so hard that his knuckles were turning white. Simon wanted to reach out and grab them—bring them to his lips. He wanted Baz to know that he was sorry, even if he couldn't find the words.

"Baz," Simon whispered. "I'm sorry, okay? I didn't...I thought it'd be good."

"And was it?"

His voice was completely devoid of emotion and it sent a shudder through Simon's body.

He shook his head. "It was my dad. The guy who wrote the letters...it was my dad."

Baz gritted his teeth but he didn't look Simon's way or say anything. Simon thought he might throw up. This was all wrong. Baz should have been yelling. Screaming. Anything. Instead, he sat there and said nothing, not even daring to look at Simon.

"What are you thinking, Baz?"

Baz didn't say anything. He put his indicator on and changed lanes.

"Baz."

Nothing.

"Please just talk to me. I know you're mad because I broke my promise, but it's my life. It's my decision. And I'm sorry that I didn't tell you, but I'm hurting and––"

"You still don't get it, do you?"

Simon cocked his head at him.

Baz was going too fast––he was letting his anger set the pace. The car was racing down the road and there were turns coming up and there was a fog rolling in. Baz was going too fast. He needed to slow down or they would crash.

"Slow down," Simon warned.

Baz looked at him, confused, then looked at the speedometer. He rolled his eyes and eased up a bit.

"What don't I get?"

"You act like this is all you––like you've had to deal with this pain on your own. Snow, when you hurt, I hurt. I'm still madly in love with you and every time I get a call from you, I think: this is it. I think that you'll be hurt or dying and I don't know what to do anymore. I thought, if you promised to call me when you're feeling bad about yourself, that I could at least pretend that I was somehow helping. That I was helping to control your pain." He took a breath. "I just want you to see that. I want you to see that you're breaking my heart when you're like this. I want to help you, Snow. I really do. But you have to let me in."

Don't cry. Don't cry.

"Baz––"