Page 36 of The Cruelest Kind of Hate
WHO NEEDS THERAPY WHEN YOU HAVE CHEESY FRIES?
CALISTA
Ishouldn’t have asked to go home with Gage. I shouldn’t have asked to be anywhere near him, but I couldn’t be in that apartment—the one still fresh with the smell of my mother’s sick body.
It’s my fault that she’s in the hospital. I should’ve been looking after her. I should’ve beenthereinstead of playing pretend with some guy. This is what I was trying to avoid. I chose my social life over my mother’s life, and now she’s paying for my selfish decision. I deserve to be the one perishing in that hospital bed, not her. And Teague…God,Teague. He shouldn’t have seen her like that. I had another duty aside from saving my mom—protecting my brother. And I failed both of them in the span of a single night.
Although I’m swallowed by Gage’s hoodie, it doesn’t provide me with solace. I’m a fucking disaster.
I don’t bother turning on Gage’s light. My flaming eyes have adjusted to the darkness, and my clamoring heart hides in the shadows of my ribs—hides from the pitiful and wounded look I know will greet me.
I sit with the afterburn of guilt; I sit with the slow-dryingtears wetting my cheeks; I sit with the hollow pain of hunger clenching in my belly. I ram my fingernails into my palms until the surface breaks and colors my skin in rouge half-crescents. I deserve to hurt; I deserve to starve; I deserve to be punished.
There’s a polite knock on the door, unneeded to enter one’s own room, and an empty gesture all the same as the partition creaks open and lets a sliver of light in.
Gage, with his muscled body, irradiates in front of me in a soft, golden glow, startling the nest of nerves inside me. The sanctity of darkness has been stripped away, leaving me proverbially naked and bared to moral scrutiny.
“I left Teague with Fulton downstairs,” Gage tells me, the evergreen of his eyes overcast with an unparalleled murkiness. “They’re playing video games.”
Even though I’m staring straight at him, I don’t say anything. All I’ve ever wanted is to make my brother happy. And it always seems that I can only do so when I’m far away from him.
Fluxes of bated breath bury themselves in my lungs, words smudging their chalky graininess over my parched tongue. My whole body is hot despite the breeze from the open window, and unending moisture laves my eyes, searching for skin to chafe.
Gage looks just as bad as I feel. His face is bunched with worry and frown lines alike, there’re purple shadows under his eyes, and tufts of hair stick out in an untamed mess. “Can we talk?” he whispers cautiously, as if he’s afraid the weight of the question will clobber me.
I was planning to nod, but I’m shocked when my voice box gyrates. “There’s nothing to talk about.”
His large hand cards through the front of his hair, a hefty sigh prying open his lips. “I know you don’t want to talk to me right now, Cali. But you can’t do this. You can’t shut me out.”
I don’t want to. Myheartdoesn’t want to. But closing myself off is the only defense mechanism I have. Keeping Gage in mylife will only complicate it more, and I’m afraid that if I continue to get lost in him, I’ll never find my way back to my mother, to my brother—to my normal life.
I turn away from Gage’s gaze, feeling the tears return with a vengeance.
He strides over to me hastily, grabs my hands in his, no doubt prepares a heartrending speech that’ll change my mind, then looks down at my palms. His thumb smears the tiny bubbles of blood from my self-inflicted cuts, and a cry gargles in his throat.
“Don’t do that, Calista,” he begs. “Please don’t do that.”
I pull my hands away from his, hiding the lacerations beneath his oversized hoodie sleeves, the self-pity in my gut flickering into an enraged fire. “Why? I deserve it.”
“You don’t. You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“It’s my fault she’s in the hospital. None of this would’ve happened if I’d been taking care of her like I was supposed to.”
“She’s been sick for a long time. You couldn’t have known it would get this bad,” he murmurs, abandoning his attempt to hold my hands and sitting beside me on the mattress. The woodsy scent of his cologne embraces me like I know he wants to, rousing my heart while my brain tries to corral every defiant, pesky emotion rising in its wake.
A growl rolls around in my chest. “I did know. I’m responsible for her now. When I got involved with you, I chose myself over her. After everything she’s done to take care of me.”
Hurt washes over his face, but he does his best to wipe the slate clean. “You shouldn’t blame yourself for wanting to live your life. And you’re doing the best you can as her sole source of income. You shouldn’t have to choose between being free and being indebted to her,” he says, fine-tuning the agony in his tone. “She wouldn’t want you to live like this. You know that.”
“You don’t know anything, Gage,” I sneer. “You don’t knowher. You don’t know what my mother wants. I’m not indebted to her!”
Why is he trying to make me the good guy? I’m not the good guy. I didn’t ask him to spew bullshit and make me feel better. Anger mangles my guts, scoops out viscera like the metal claw on an excavator. My chest begins to stutter with thin breaths, and my vision winks in and out of focus, bile soddening my throat.
“Shit, no. That’s not what I meant. I’m sorry,” he immediately apologizes, tipping his head back and showing me the tremble of his Adam’s apple. “I just…I need you to know that you’ve done everything you can to give her the best life possible. She wouldn’t still be alive if that wasn’t the case.”
“She’s barely alive,” I respond, staring at his bedroom floor.
Gage, with his stupid, inextinguishable determination, manages to capture my hands in an unyielding grip, forcing me to turn my attention to him. “Spitfire…”
