“Henley.”
“No, don’t ‘Henley’ me. You’ve been an ass.”
“And you’re being a brat,” he demands.
“I’m not the one who’s been pushing me out the last few days,” I remind him. “I’m not Monica. I’m not going to come crawling back every time you decide you don’t want me. I have a little more self-respect than that.”
“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”
“It means I’ve got the shits with you.”
“And whose fault is that?” he hollers down the phone. “You smoked a fucking joint at a party with my fucking sister and didn’t tell anyone. You could have been hurt. Don’t you get how dangerous that was? What kind of guys would have willingly taken advantage of the three fucked up girls who were high as shit and wouldn’t have been able to put a face to the accusation the next morning?”
“So, what your saying is that you can go and do stupid shit every fucking day with Rivers, but when I fuck up just once, I’m going to be treated like shit from the one guy who’s supposed to…”
“Supposed to what?” he demands.
Love me?
“Supposed to give a shit.”
I end the call, unable to trust myself not to say something that I’ll regret.
I thought watching my mom walk out on us was hard, I thought losing Jackson and Kaylah was hard, I thought being the school’s designated punching bag was hard, but I’ve never been so wrong. Having Noah Cage tear me apart from within is easily the hardest, most soul shattering thing I’ve ever endured.
I don’t even know where we stand. I can easily guarantee that he’s never had a girl challenge him like that and something screams at me that I’ve just fucked it all up. The start of the call was going alright until I decided to fall into a pathetic rage.
My phone lights up with another call and the tears instantly start streaming down my face. I can’t handle this right now. I can’t handle knowing that when I answer that phone, he’s going to tell me that we’re done. I can’t handle knowing just how badly my heart is going to shatter. I can’t handle the fear of not having him in my life.
So, instead of taking the call that will end the best thing that’s ever happened to me, I turn off my phone and pull the covers right over my head before crying myself to sleep; wishing this was all some kind of terrible dream.
Chapter 8
Tully comes storming through my bedroom door and dives for my bed. “Henley, wake up. We’re late for school.”
I smother my face into my pillow as the events of last night’s phone call with Noah comes slamming to the forefront of my mind. “I’m not going,” I grumble.
“Come on,” she insists. “I’m not screwing around. We’re late. Didn’t you set your alarm?”
“I turned my phone off,” I say, grabbing the blanket and pulling it over my head. “I’m not going.”
She lets out a frustrated groan. “Why the hell not?”
“Because your brother is an ass.”
“You’ll have to be more specific,” Tully insists.
I clarify to help her understand a little better. “Because your brother is a really big ass.”
“What happened?” she sighs, realizing something must have gone down last night that she’s not aware of. “What did that big turd do now?”
I let out a breath. “Nothing I didn’t deserve,” I grumble before looking up at her from under the blanket. “He called last night and we got into a huge argument about the whole ‘getting high’ thing. Actually, I’m impressed you slept through it.”
“Really?” she questions, scrunching up her face, “I didn’t hear a thing.”
“Yeah, he just… he pushed all my buttons and I sort of hung up on him, and now I’m spending the day in bed pretending it never happened.”
“Seriously?” she grumbles.
“Uh huh. If I don’t turn on my phone and I’m not at school, he doesn’t get a shot at breaking up with me.”
“He’s not going to break up with you.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Yeah,” she scoffs, “I do.”
I pout up at her and she finally gives in. “Fine,” she groans, throwing herself off my bed and into my closet. She rifles through, searching for something that will suit her style, but let’s be honest, apart from ripped jeans, boots and tanks, there’s not much in there.
“Do you want to take the truck?” I question, trying to be helpful.
“No, I can’t drive that death trap,” she scoffs. “I’ll just walk.”
“Won’t that make you late?”
“Probably,” she shrugs, stepping into a pair of jeans.
“You’ll get detention,” I warn her.
“Who me?” she gasps in mock horror. “Unlikely. Principal Evans thinks I have proof of us getting it on. I’m set for the rest of senior year.”
I grin back at her. “I’d forgotten about that.”
She winks and carries on getting ready for school. “You sure you don’t want to come?”