You’re a good lay, J. Worth every penny. Now get out. You’re not good enough for anything more.
Shut up, shut up. I clap my hands over my ears. Funny how I thought those wounds had scabbed over, healed.
It shouldn’t hurt this bad. You’d think after spending my whole life being kicked around, thrown out on my ass and called names, carted from group home to group home, that I’d have a thicker skin.
But it does hurt. Because she’s not just any girl. Because… Because she means something to me.
Just stop feeling, I tell myself. Just stop. When will you learn that nobody wants you to stay?
“J. You okay, man?”
I whirl around, transported for a moment back to a back alley, looking for any weapon to protect myself with.
Tyler gives me a narrow-eyed look, leaning against the cubicle entrance, arms folded over his chest. His dark hair is cut short and looks wet.
“Zane wanted to talk to me. Where is he?” Need my smokes. I pat my pockets. Dammit, I don’t have them with me, probably dropped them at Amber’s apartment. Or during the fight with my roommates. Fuck.
“Calm down, buddy.” Tyler doesn’t move, which is a good thing, because if he as much as crowds me in right now I’ll punch his lights out. “Z-man’s on the phone, he’ll be back in a minute. Now why don’t you tell me what’s gotten your boxers in a twist?”
The scars on my arm itch and ache, and I back away a step.
Tyler’s older than the rest of us by a couple of years. He’s also the tallest of the group, and trying to calm down, like he suggested, is harder with him than with the others. He reminds me too much of the man in the alley—just like Gage, my roommate, does. Not their fault.
But dammit, I still have nightmares about it.
“J. Hey.” Tyler nods at someone outside the cubicle, then turns back to me. “Spill. What’s up?”
“Nothing’s up.” I drop back on the stool, throw my baseball cap on the counter and fold my arms over my chest, too, mirroring his stance. “Don’t you have customers waiting?”
Tyler mans the reception desk of the shop. Not many people wander inside in the mornings, but hey.
“Nice try.” He tsks. “I’m waiting.”
“Fuck off, Tyler.”
“If you can’t tell your friends, who’re you gonna tell your troubles to?”
“I don’t have friends.” I huff. “I don’t do people. And people don’t do me.”
“Bullshit.” He gives a lazy grin, like a lion who just ate the gazelle. “Maybe your definitions need some dusting. Newsflash, J: we are friends. You and me. You and Zane. You and Seth. You and Micah. Everyone here is your friend. We’d do anything for you, and deep inside, you fucking know it.”
I chew on the inside of my cheek, mulling this over.
“Now normally you don’t look like you’re about to smash Zane’s workspace to bits, which is why I’m asking you what happened. Tell me, and maybe I can help you fix it.”
“Fix it. Don’t know if anyone can fix it. Fix me.”
“You?” Tyler frowns. “Nothing’s wrong with you.”
“Everything’s wrong with me. I don’t…” I clasp my hands behind my head and squeeze. “I don’t know anything. When I think I understand how a relationship works, it turns out I understand jack. And girls… I don’t get them.”
“Man, and who does?” He rolls his eyes and sighs, and it’d be damn funny if I wasn’t smarting. Which is stupid, and I should stop.
Thing is, I’ve been telling myself this ever since I met her—stop feeling, stop wanting, stop hoping—and it’s not working.
“This is about Amber, isn’t it?” Tyler asks, and I nod.
No point in denying it.