Page 71 of Built to Fall
He tilts his head, giving me a look like,shouldn’t I be asking you that?
“Well, either come in or don’t,” I add awkwardly. It’s usually easy for me to be snippy with Grant. Not right now, though.
Not when I’ve been given glimpses of all the ways he’s desperate to help me. My biggest concern is that he thinks there’s something in it for him, and until I can figure out what that possibly could be, I can’t fully trust him in the way he and everyone else wants me to.
“Are you going to sleep?” he asks, taking another step forward.
I sigh. “I’m trying to, but I keep getting interrupted.”
Grant gives me a skeptical look. He knows I’m lying.
“Listen.” He shuts the door behind him, closing off my friends, who are no doubt eavesdropping from the living room. “I get it. You don’t trust me, but Lina, I don’t want you to feel like you owe me anything. If you want to keep being a bitch to me, go ahead. It doesn’t bother me. All I care about is making sure nothing like what happened before happens again.”
“What happened to you being an asshole?” I groan, sinking further into my pillow. “You can’t come in here telling me you don’t care if I continue to treat you like shit when you’ve all of a sudden become the nice guy.”
I feel absolutely awful that my gut reaction is to be mean to Grant. I hate that I assumed what kind of guy he was on first instinct all because I was still fucked up over what happened to me a year ago.
Yet, I can’t wrangle my emotions long enough to change the way I respond to him. Because he knocks my brain off balance, tipping it every other way every time we talk. Like some kind of emotional rollercoaster. I can barely keep up with my emotions as it is, let alone when they’re tossing and turning all over the place.
And it’s all my fault. Because I can’t bear the idea of trusting people when I’m in these kinds of vulnerable positions. Because I’m so emotionally detached that I can’t truly determine whether someone means what they say.
It all makes it impossible for me to trust him, and I hate the fact that I’m punishing him for the wounds that someone else inflicted.
I read somewhere once about how octopuses have nine brains—one central and one for each tentacle. Yet, when they’re stressed, each system can begin to individually shut down. They stop exploring and start retreating. It makes me wonder if that’swhat I’ve been doing. If I’ve been shutting down piece by piece every time someone gets too close.
“I’m not trying to become the nice guy here, Lina.” He looks pained, his expression desperately trying to work its way off his face. “I just—there’s something keeping me from letting this go.”
“Does it have to do with your mom?” I ask outright.
“Yeah, but I don’t want to talk about it. I’m not trying to make this about me.”
“Alright,” I say. I’m not going to pressure him to talk about his mom when I’ve spent the better part of a year trying not to eventhinkabout mine. “So what did you really come in here for?”
“I just want you to know that I’m not trying to help you from a place of pressure or pity. This is serious to me, Lina, and I want to help.”
“Grant—”
“I’m not trying to sound dense. I know that my bed isn’t magical and all of that shit I might have been making it seem like. I’m just saying, there are psychological studies that have proven sleeping next to someone can give you a better sense of security and can better your chance at getting the sleep you need. I’ve caught onto your love of facts and logical explanations, so there’s one for you.”
It’s also a known fact that you are at your most unguarded state when asleep—probably why people long for the feeling of safety.
Dolphins only let half of their brain sleep at a time so they can stay alert, avoiding that vulnerability. I think I’ve been attempting to do the same.
But I’ve also come to realize that Grant is more of a protector than Gage ever was. It’s in his wiring. Less of a choice and more of an instinct. Like keeping people safe—constantly running damage control—keeps him more at ease than doing nothing.
There has to be a reason why Grant is the first person I’ve been able to sleep next to since Gage.
Maybe it’s because even though I’m not sure whether I can fully trust him, something in my subconscious must recognize that Grant doesn’t just sit and watch from the other side of the glass. He steadies it before it shatters.
Which is why I say, “I’ll consider it. Again.”
“That’s all I ask.” Then, he paces a few times before reaching the door. “Try to get some rest.”
And then he’s gone, retreating back into the living room, where I know he’ll stay for the night.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
GRANT
