Page 71 of The Layover
‘No, I didn’t.’
I scoff, wiping my nose again.
I thought we might actually be on better terms, given everything that’s happened and all the confessions we’ve made, but I was obviously wrong about that. He’s exactly the mean, sullen, standoffish person he first showed himself to be, and his friendlier attitude is just one more thing I’ve fooled myself into believing.
He’s another guy I let myself think the best of, see the potential in, only to be proved wrong yet again, and made the fool.
‘I don’t think you’re worthless,’ Leon says, and moves closer. His fingers graze my elbow and I jerk my arm back when the gesture takes me by surprise. He hesitates, but I don’t quite move away, too confused by the sincerity in his voice and the seriousness in his features. I could be mistaken for thinking he looks ‘like a broody bastard’ again, as Gemma put it, but it’s more like – resolve. Something very focused, and very intense, and which I’m suddenly finding it very hard to look away from.
This time, when he touches my arm, I let him.
‘I don’t think you’re worthless,’ he repeats. ‘That’s not what I meant by it. It’s just … It’s more like you’re lettinghimtreat you like you are. Like it doesn’t matter how you feel, or what any of this is like for you. Like he matters more than you do, his feelings are worth more than yours somehow. Which they aren’t. Because you don’t … What I’m trying to say is …’
He’s stammering again, like when Gemma asked him about my new underwear choices in the Victoria’s Secret section. It’sendearing, oddly vulnerable, and I wipe away a couple more tears. His grip tenses around my elbow.
‘What I’m trying to say,’ he says tightly, looking me in the eyes so fiercely it’s like he’s daring himself to do it, and all I can do is stare back, ‘is that you’re worth a damn sight more than someone like Marcus, and I think it’s a real fucking shame you can’t see that.’
‘I …’
I have no idea what to say to that. It’s not what I thought he’d followed me to say, not what I took from his tirade earlier, but – I believe him, when he says that’s what he meant.
And I’m not sure what to do with it.
Another sob bursts out of me, and I’m leaning forward before I can think twice about it, burying my face in Leon’s broad, solid chest. My fingers bunch in his shirt. He doesn’t hold me, which makes me feel like a colossal idiot for throwing myself at the nearest source of potential comfort, only moves his hand from my elbow. I expect him to prise me away and push me out at arm’s length, but instead his hand anchors between my shoulder blades.
It’s only a scrap of kindness, but haven’t I already proved that I’m happy accepting scraps of affection and attention from Marcus all this time?
Leon’s right – I have exactly zero sense of self-worth.
It’s a vicious pain, right between my ribs, and I fight to get myself at least a little bit under control. I manage to swallow down a few gasping breaths, and shove myself upright, away from Leon. His hand falls back to his side, clenching and unclenching. I unfurl my own fingers from their death-grip in his shirt.
‘I’m sorry it came out so … harsh,’ he tells me. ‘I just … I think I can see he’s doing to you what Kay’s been doing tous, and I just can’t figure out why you’dchoosethat. Why you’d go after it,when you don’t have to. She’s my sister, Ihaveto carry that pain. But he’s … You can walk away. Youshouldwalk away.’
I sniffle. I guess it never felt like I had much of a choice, if only because I didn’tgive myselfone. It was comfortable. I told myself I was happy. Told myself it was inevitable, it was a storybook romance, it was bad luck, it was … something I couldn’t walk away from.
Could I? Could I be that person who wears the bold lipstick, the nice underwear for no reason, who walks away from this emotional affair that’s no good for her? Someone who takes risks – takeschargeof her own life a little bit?
I thought I was finally doing something that would stop me being a side-character in someone else’s story, but he’s right. I’llalwaysbe exactly that with Marcus. Just like with all the other guys I’ve dated before him. All those fixer-uppers I fell head over heels for, wilfully blind to a litany of red flags before they moved on to someone else.
Don’t I want more for myself than that?
‘He won’t pick you over Kay,’ Leon carries on now that I’ve fallen quiet, ‘because even a self-centred prick like Marcus can see you’re too good for him. You’re everything he’s not. You’re kind, and sweet, and – and gentle, and … He’d never be able to live with himself if he picked you.’
‘Oh,’ I say, and it’s all Icansay, apparently, because even after I swallow the lump in my throat and try again, all that comes out is, ‘Oh.’
‘If he picked you,’ Leon says, lowering his voice, the steady, serious cadence of it quieting some of the sadness that threatened to overwhelm me, ‘he’d walk all over you and he’d probably cheat because that’s apparently the sort of scumbag he is, and he’d hurt you, and … And I get it, you’re in love with him, you know? That’s … I don’t know what that’s like. IwishI had someone in my life I felt that strongly for, that I’d riskeverything for just a chance to be with them. But he doesn’t deserve it. He doesn’t deserveyou. I didn’t mean to say that you were worthless, that wasn’t … Imeant, you’re worth too much to throw it away on someone like him.’
A fresh wave of tears pricks at my eyes and spills over onto my cheeks, but this one doesn’t hurt so badly. It aches, carves out a hollow deep inside my chest, but it isn’t the sharp, all-consuming pain that makes me feel small and stupid.
It makes me …
Makes meyearn, for – for I don’t know what. More? Maybe?
For someone who would fight for me like I’ve been trying to fight for Marcus, someone who doesn’t offer me scraps while I give them my whole heart and act like it’s enough. For someone to look at me and …
Say that I’m worth more. Toseethat I am.
I find my gaze drawn to the mirror above the sink. Leon’s profile is highlighted there, a squat nose and scruffy hair and searching eyes and broad shoulders in a creased shirt. And there’s me, cheeks blotchy and bright, eyes shining with tears and hair frizzing out of my braids, drowning in this godforsaken jacket.
