Page 70 of Nine-Tenths

I look like I've been crying.

I am crying.

I wipe my face with my sleeve. Stand up. Sway on the spot. Make a fist.

Hurts.

Oh right, the pin.

I shove it in my pocket, because otherwise I’ll throw it against the wall.

Go to the kitchen. Look around.

Empty.

Hollow.

My phone beeps a few more times, and my own devastation plays out as the picture of me—posted with the caption "Trouble in paradise?", nosy fucking clueless bastards—is shared around.

"No." Hadi plucks the phone from my hand, turns off the notifications, shoves it in my back pocket. "Hey. Colin? Colin! Hey!"

It takes a few tries to get my eyes to meet hers.

"First, Rule Seven, okay?" I nod stupidly as she cups my shoulders in her hands.

The edge of her finger brushes scars on my bicep and I suck in a hard breath. It doesn't hurt.

It justhurts.

"Say it, Colin."

"I'm worthy of love."

"Yes, you are."

Hadi gathers me up in a hug, and I proceed to soak the tail-end of her hijab clean through. When I've exhausted myself, she pulls herself up to sit on the workstation and lets me lean against the wall, giving me space to be sad.

"Sorry," I say at length, scrubbing at my nose on my sleeve.

"You don't have to apologize for crying, duh."

"No, I know. I mean for fucking up your business."

Hadi heaves a sigh. "You didn't fuck it up."

"I'm the one who let Dav into the kitchen in the first place. I'm the one who suggested he try roasting the beans with his breath.I'm the reason he kept doing it. It's all my fault, and now they've taken everything from you—"

"I haven't lost anything but a few day's revenue," Hadi says, the corners of her mouth turned down in a deep scowl. "And I can bounce back."

"I'm such a fuck-up," I heave, the confession like slime crawling up my throat.

"Colin—"

"I'm a disaster."

"Stop—"

"I can't do anything right, I can't—"

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