Miss Me Not

"Having someone to talk to doesn't help the hole if you're not the cause of it," I said, turning on him. "You can't fix something you didn't break!"

"I can help," he pleaded.

"I don't need to be a pet project of yours," I said in a voice dripping with venom.

He didn't deny my accusation. All the wind was knocked out of my sails and I forgot to breath. I wanted to be wrong. I had actually hoped it was something else.

Without another word, I turned and stalked away. He reached out and snagged my arm with his hand before I could move more than a few steps.

"You're not a project," he said through clenched teeth.

"Really," I said sarcastically, trying to ignore the hurt that raced through me.

He sighed, dropping his hand down so that he held my hand loosely in his. "It might have started that way. I've watched you over the last few years. I know you're a loner like Mitch was. I made halfhearted attempts to include Mitch over the years. Halfhearted asshole attempts. I knew he didn't fit in with my normal group, but I didn't care enough to make the time for him. Everything else was so much more important. I hate myself for that. I'm the selfish jerk who couldn't take the time to find common ground for an old friend until it was too late," he said earnestly, finally releasing my hand. "When you showed up for tutoring, I felt it was a sign. I could redeem myself. But with you, I didn't need to search for common ground, you intrigued me from the moment you sat down."

I stood like a rock, listening to his confession of guilt. I wanted to move, to be indifferent, but his words kept me anchored in place.

"Please, I just want to be friends," he pleaded.

"You don't have to save me."

"I know," he said quietly. "Friends?" he asked, holding out his hand so we could shake.

"I'm not a good friend," I said, looking at his outstretched hand.

"Obviously, neither am I," he said, shooting a sad smile my way. "We can learn together."

"Your regular friends are going to give you shit for it," I said, thinking of the note from earlier.

"Not if they're my real friends."

I snorted. "Do you go to the same school as me?"

"I'll handle my friends. Trust me, okay?" he said, moving his outstretched hand closer to me, waiting for me to be the one to make contact this time.

"They'll make our lives a living hell," I prophesied.

"Are you scared?" he teased, knowing he'd won.

"Nothing scares me," I lied. "It's bound to crash and burn anyway," I added, knocking the smile off his face.

"Willing to place a wager on it?" he asked.

"It's a sucker bet, but as long as you don't mind being a sucker," I said, reaching out willingly to someone for the first time in years.

"I'll prove you wrong," he said, releasing my hand. "Come on, I'll give you a lift home."

"Actually, do you mind making a stop on the way?" I asked, deciding if I was jumping in, I should go for broke.

"No problem."

An hour later, I was the not-so-sure owner of my first cell phone, and two hundred dollars lighter.

"All right. I've programmed my number in. Do you have anyone else you want me to add in?" Dean asked from his perch on the floral-disaster couch.

"Nope," I answered, fiddling with the remote control. Now that I had committed to trying out the whole friendship thing, I was having serious second thoughts. Having him in my house was unsettling, especially since I knew I was breaking taboo rules. James being in my house didn't count since obviously he ran for the opposing team. The last time I had someone over it had irreversibly changed my whole life.

"What about your mom?" he asked, looking up from the phone.