Page 80 of His to Teach
He shakes his head, approaching my bed with outstretched hands. Unlike Emma, he ignores my demand that he stop. “You deserve better than that, Harpy.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I do,” he insists. “I’m twelve years older than you and?—”
“God damn it, Mason.” I push at his chest, not wanting him near me. “Are you ever going to treat me like a fucking adult?”
“Maybe if you acted like one,” he snaps back. “But this?” He gestures at my tearstained face. “Obsessing over yourprofessor? Risking your future over a guy? That is not the behavior of an adult. It’s the behavior of a spoiled child.”
I stare at him, the echo of those words settling deep inside me.
Ever since my parents died, all I’ve ever wanted is to please my older brother. To make him proud. To make him feel like all the sacrifices he made for me were worth it. To make him feel likeIwas worth it.
So this—the acknowledgment that he’s disappointed in me, the look in his eyes that tells me he’s disgusted by my behavior—it should bring me pain. Make me ashamed. Make me feel like I’ve failed him.
I don’t feel any of that. All I feel is rage, deep down in my chest.
“Get the fuck out.”
He stares at me, shocked.
“I said get out,” I repeat, louder now. “Get out of my room. Get out of this apartment. I don’t want to see you.”
“Harper—”
“Get out!”
He shakes his head, like he has no idea how to deal with me. All of a sudden he looks much older than his thirty-four years, tired and despondent in a way I’ve never seen before. “We’ll talk later,” he mutters, striding to the door. “When you’re feeling better.”
When I’m feeling better. That’s such a fucking joke. How am I ever going to feel better without Nate?
I don’t notice Emma leave the room with Mason but she must have, because she reappears a few minutes later with a mug of something hot in her hands.
“Drink this, sweetie,” she murmurs, and I think I might hear tears in her voice.
I look up at my best friend but I can’t see if she’s crying—the tears in my own eyes blind me too much. “He left,” I tell her.
“I know,” she says, voice soft, heartbroken for me. “I’m so sorry.”
“I shouldn’t be surprised,” I mutter, staring down at the mug in my hands. Tea, I’m pretty sure. The thought of drinking it makes my stomach hurt. “Everyone leaves.”
“That’s not true,” she tells me, wrapping an arm around my shoulders. “I’m right here.”
And I’m grateful for her, more grateful than I can ever express. But I also know the possibility of her eventually leaving is high. She’s going to get a great job after grad school, move to a bigger city, New York or LA, and have the big exciting life she deserves. I want that for her.
But she’ll be one more person I love who can’t stay with me. And there will always be a part of me that wonders if it isn’t my fault, at least a little. I’m too clingy, too needy. Maybe that’s why Mason has never been able to stop being a parental figure for five minutes to just be my brother. Maybe it’s why Nate left today—he didn’t want to be saddled by the pathetic little girl who would be so silly as to give up her education for him.
And maybe it’s why my mom decided to stop her treatments to follow my dad. Because I was too much to deal with, not as worthy of her love as he was.
“Everyone,” I say again, more to myself this time, and I feel my heart break just a little bit more. “Everyone leaves.”
The next severaldays pass in a blur of pain. Mason calls constantly. I don’t answer, not ready to talk to him.
Nate doesn’t call. Not even once.
I don’t know what I would do without Emma. She forces me to eat and get out of bed. She’s unable to convince me to go to school when the weekend ends, but at least I’m not wallowing under the covers for days on end.
Even that small feat feels like a huge accomplishment.
