Page 68 of Off Limits

Another glare. “You’re really annoying when you want to be, you know that?”

I grin in an attempt to diffuse her irritation and prop myself up on an elbow, looking up at her sitting naked and cross legged on her bed. “I’ve been told that before, yes. But seriously.” I reach out and tug on a lock of her hair before smoothing it behind her ear. “Because isn’t an answer.”

“Because he wouldn’t approve. My dad. It’s not what he’s decided I should do, and so just declaring graphic design or anything else that’s not nursing or elementary education or something stable and appropriate”—she holds up her hands to make air quotes around the word ‘appropriate’—“is easier said than done.”

I mull that over for a moment. “But what would he do? I mean, you’re the one who has to live your life. You really think he’d rather you be miserable following his plan than study something you actually care about?”

Her answer is a sarcastic snort. “Pretty much, yeah.” She draws her knees up to her chest and wraps her arms around them, and all I want to do is tuck her back into my side and wrap myself around her to keep all the bad things plaguing her at bay. But I don’t, because that’s not actually what she needs.

“He might cut me off,” she says in a small voice. “You heard him complaining about how much he pays for tuition already. If I don’t do what he wants, I might not get to finish college at all. And I wouldn’t qualify for any financial aid, because they base it all off your parents’ income. I’d have to take a year or more off from school, get a job, establish myself separate from them, reapply …”

I’m quiet for a long moment. “You really think he’d do that?”

She shrugs.

“Could you even try talking to him? Because as much as he’s obviously pushing you to do nursing, from my perspective, it seemed more like he was frustrated about his perception that you’re directionless. If you can show him that you have a direction …”

But she’s shaking her head before I can even finish. “You said it yourself, you don’t have overbearing parents so you don’t get it. You spent like five minutes with him. You don’t know how he is.”

I nod. “Okay. You’re right. That’s true. But it’s just weird to me.”

She eyes me warily. “What’s weird, specifically?”

Shrugging one shoulder, I smooth my hand over the sheet in front of me, flattening the wrinkles. “It’s just that you don’t have any trouble expressing yourself to me, and you never really have, but with your parents you’re like a whole different person.”

She snorts again. “Well, yeah. Because they’re my parents. Telling you things doesn’t really matter.”

A wave of ice slowly washes down my body from head to toe, and I freeze in place. “Telling me things doesn’t matter,” I repeat slowly, “because …” I leave it hanging, hoping she’ll fill in the blank with something, anything, to take the sting out of that statement.

But all she does is give me a pained look. “Simon,” she says softly.

I sit up slowly. “No, finish the sentence. Telling me things doesn’t really matter. Because I don’t really matter? Because this thing between us doesn’t really matter? And that’s why you don’t want to tell Cal. Because here I’ve been waiting for you to work up the courage to do so, thinking you just needed to build up to it or figure out a way to ease him into the idea, that maybe he’d have gotten a clue when we were at your parents’ house, and all this time you’ve been, what? Just having fun? Using me to get back at your brother for being as much of an overbearing asshole as your dad? But secretly, because you wouldn’t want to actually deal with the consequences of standing up for yourself.”

My feet hit the floor, and I’m pulling on my clothes, needing space. Distance. As much distance as possible right now.

“Simon, no, wait, please.” She scrambles to the edge of the bed, tangled in the sheet and almost falling off in her hurry to get to me. She finally gets to her feet, her hand on my arm stopping me from pulling my shirt on, her face pleading. “That’s not what I meant. Or it came out wrong. You do matter. But …”

I look down at her as she licks her lips, her gaze darting around as though she can find the magic words to make everything okay again hidden in the corners of her room among the stray clothes and scattered books and papers. Waiting. Hoping she’ll come up with some other believable way for me to interpret what she just said in light of our entire relationship.

“Cal is …” she starts, but shakes her head. “Cal’s a dick.” She meets my eyes then, her chin lifted like she’s defying me to say otherwise. “And if he finds out about us, he’ll be awful to both of us. I don’t want to be the reason that you lose your best friend,” she finishes quietly.

I nod, and her expression eases, like she thinks she’s finally gotten through to me. “And I’m not important enough to you to decide that being with you is worth risking that.”

“No, please, that’s not what I’m saying.”

I pull away and yank my shirt on, stuffing my feet into my shoes. “No, Ellie, I get it. I understand completely. We had totally different understandings of what this was. You were just having fun, and I …” I spread my hands. “Well, I thought we were starting something real. Something lasting.”

“What this was?” she croaks. “Not what it is?”

Pulling in a breath, I force myself to stay calm, even though I’m cracking apart on the inside, all my seams crumbling the longer this conversation goes on. “I was willing to wait a while before we dropped the bomb on Cal,” I say, forcing my voice to be calm and steady, “because you’re right, he can be a dick, and he likely would react badly. Which, by the way, is his problem, not yours, and not mine. But if that’s not even an option you can see? I don’t know what we’re doing.”

“Simon,” she pleads, but I just shake my head.

“I gotta go.”

“No, Simon, wait, please.”

But I grab my sweatshirt, scoop up my backpack, and leave, catching a wide-eyed Autumn just getting home from her class on my way out the door. I give her a jerky nod, and she says something, but I’m not sure what, because my blood is rushing in my ears, and I don’t know where I’m going, I just know I can’t stay here, and I can’t go home.

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