Page 76 of The Beginning and End of Everything
"I can wear you out if you like?" He grins, even though he can barely open his eyes.
He’s on point tonight, and it takes everything inside me not to laugh. "Wow.”
He lifts his hand, trying to stroke my hair, but instead, he ends up petting my cheek. "I'm sorry.”
How many times will I hear that if I stay with him? I’m terrified that I’m setting myself up for a lifetime of apologies, a constant Tilt a ‘Whirl of emotions, and while I know there’s so very little about this that’s ideal, I crave it. “You have to take better care of yourself."
“No.” He halfway shakes his head. "I'm sorry I fucked you."
A stuttered breath catches in my lungs. He regrets what I long for.Thisis why I shouldn’t have crossed that line because, just like the first time, I took it to mean something more.
"And now you hate me," he mumbles. "Please don't hate me. Just forget it happened. Then we can be Brandon and possum again." He nods to himself. "Brandon and possum." His brow wrinkles, and he looks so distressed that I have the urge to smooth out the deep-set lines.
"I don't hate you,” I whisper. “And we'll always be Brandon and possum. Nothing can change that."
A flicker of a smile touches his lips but quickly fades, his eyes going distant. "He would hate me."
"Damn it." I feel my chest tighten, not from anger, but from how pathetic the two of us are. "Stop it. Just stop it. If he were alive, we wouldn't be here, but we are. Connor’s gone.” My words catch in my throat. My chest aches. “So just…” I exhale and drop my chin to my chest. "Stop."
"You know, he made me promise? We were in this shithole hut in the middle of the desert. There was a goat. And bullets, lots of bullets. He made me promise him that if he karked it, I'd look after you.” He draws circles on my arm with his fingers. “That goat was cool as shit."
"A goat…" I shake my head, and we sit in silence, each staring off into nothing for a moment. "In his grave letter he asked me to look after you. So, here we are, looking after each other." I trail my fingertips along his jawline, and he huffs a laugh.
"Of course he did. And that's exactly why Connor was always so worthy of you."
Worthy of me like I’m some prize. I narrow my gaze. "Don'tsay things like that."
“Okay.”
I turn on the TV, and Brandon’s head lands in my lap, and we sit, me combing through his hair while we watch a rerun. Just when I think Brandon’s passed out, his fingers grip at my shirt.
“Please don't leave me."
I lean over, placing my face right in front of his. "I'm not leaving you." I take a breath, warring with myself because I want to kiss him, but I can’t manage the fallout. "Friends no matter what, remember? I promised."
"But I don't want to just be your friend.” His finger brushes my bottom lip. "And I feel like a fucking arsehole for it."
44
Brandon
My head is pounding, and my mouth tastes like something curled up and died in it. When the bed shifts beside me, I open my eyes and glance across at Poppy. Her back is to me, her small body covered in one of my over-sized T-shirts. Dark hair spills across the pillow, and the scent of her shampoo just manages to cut through the stench of whiskey on my breath.
I can't remember a thing past the fact that I came home and she was gone. I thought she had left, and I started drinking. Whatever this is between us, it's dangerous to me because it's so damn vital. I crawl out of bed and stumble into the shower. It feels like a marching band has taken up residence inside my head, and it hurts to think, which is…inconvenient given the tornado of thoughts whirling through my brain.
By the time I get out of the shower, Poppy's up and moving around the kitchen. I throw on a pair of tracksuit bottoms and brace myself before I go into the kitchen. As soon as her eyes crash into mine, a painful squeeze takes over my chest.
"Hey," I mumble.
Clasping a mug of coffee in both hands, she asks, "How's your head?"
"Been better."
She pours me a cup and grabs the whiskey from the cupboard, dumping in a shot. She’s learning.
“Ah, the hair of the dog.”
Her brow wrinkles. “Hair of what?”
