"You ungrateful bitch. I keep a roof over your head, and this is the thanks I get?"
"You could have killed her," I retort, trying to muster up confidence that I don't possess. "What if she goes to the cops, Dad? That bruise on her face is enough to...
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I feel Damian's eyes on me as I walk down the hall. I suppose it's odd to feel someone's eyes on you, especially a specific set, but that's just how well he and I know each other. Our bond is greater than friendship. It's as if our souls are intertwined.
That's why he's so defensive of me. That's why I frustrate him so easily. That's why he's the one person who I know will never leave me behind, no matter how hard I push him away.
"We need to talk." His heavy footsteps approach me. "What are you doing after school today?"
"Talking to you, I guess," I reply with a shrug.
"I'll meet you on the quad at two-thirty."
"Sounds like a plan."
Without another word, he disappears into a classroom I know he is not supposed to be in, probably just to get away from me.
I don't blame him. I've been a pretty toxic friend lately.
Perhaps I was incorrect before. Maybe it is possible for me to push him away, after all.
Maybe I already have.
At two-thirty, I meet Damian on the quad as promised. He sits on the grass, his legs stretched out in front of him as he rips a handful of emerald blades from the earth. When he notices me standing over him, he looks up, smiling sheepishly.
"I know you're mad at me," I say, "but there's no need to take it out on the grass."
Chuckling, he gestures for me to sit. I lower myself to the ground, keeping a three-foot distance between us. It feels unnatural to be so far away, but something stops me from moving closer.
"So... what did you want to talk about?" I ask.
"You, mostly," he answers. "Look, I know I need to give you space. I know I haven't given you space. It's just... I don't know. I'm really worried."
"And why are you so worried?"
As soon as the question leaves my lips, I regret it. It's a stupid thing to ask.
"I talked to Haven. She told me why she slapped you," he explains. "For the record, I'm pissedshe did that. It wasn't right, and I understand why you quit, but...." He falls silent, his expression grave as the tension between us grows. "Layla, why are you drinking so much?"
"I'm not," I say quickly.
"Please don't lie to me."
"I'm not lying."
"Haven found your miniature whiskey at Gabby's. Jessi smelled booze on you the day we came back to school. Over the summer, I saw all those empty bottles in your roo—"
"You teleported into my room?" I cut in, shocked. "Do you just pop in all the time?"
"Keep your voice down," he scolds me. "No, I don't 'pop in' often. I literally hadn't seen you in months. I just wanted to make sure you weren't dead!"
