Page 50 of Tell Me Why
“Not even with…” I hesitate, my mind straying to Sara and the countless others. “Not with anyone?”
“My parents are cold, selfish people. Tenderness wasn’t something I learned as a kid,” he says, a thread of pain stitched through his words. “And you know what they say—you can’t give what you never received.”
“Was it really bad?”
“When I was ten, I got super sick with the flu or something. My parents were completely checked out. Always rushing to some gala or business thing. The staff was supposed to look after me, but they were busy, and my brother was off at school. I was basically alone for days. I stopped eating, stopped drinking. And then things got really bad—my kidneys started to shut down…” He pauses, swallows. “And when my parents were called, they told one of the security guys to take me to the hospital. I was there for, I don’t know, a week, maybe. My dad showed up once to sign something, then left without even seeing me.”
My chest tightens, imagining ten-year-old Christian in such a scary situation, completely alone. I may have been surrounded by chaos as a kid, but my mom would have walked through fire to be by my side if I were sick. “Christian…”
He shakes his head, like he’s shaking off the memory of that hospital. “So, yeah, when the people who made you don’t give a fuck if you live or die, you learn that vulnerability is just another opportunity to get hurt, you know?”
I think about my aunt, about the years after my mom died, when I learned that same lesson. “Yeah, I do.”
“But, I don’t know…” he continues, his eyes meeting mine. “I’m starting to wonder if it’s worth the risk.”
“What do you mean?” I ask, my pulse suddenly racing. Is he talking about being vulnerable? With me? Am I…imagining that?
Dropping the washcloth, he rises to his feet. “Never mind.” He holds his hand out to me. “The water is getting cold.”
I take his hand, and he hauls me up. As I step onto the plush bathmat, he grabs a nearby towel and begins drying me, moving the soft towel over my body quickly and efficiently.
“What were you going to say?” I ask, reaching for the towel in his hand. I’m not a toddler. I can dry myself. “What’s worth the risk?”
He narrows his eyes when I take the towel, but he lets me. “It’s nothing,” he says. “Seriously.”
Something passes between us—a mutual understanding, maybe, I don’t know. But there’s a shift, for sure. Something that wasn’t there before—a small sign that there’s an actual human somewhere behind the mask Christian wears for the rest of the world.
“Christian Aaron West!” a female voice calls out from the bedroom, and just like that, our quiet moment evaporates.
Christian tilts his head back with a groan, like he doesn’t have the mental energy to deal with whoever this is. Sara, maybe? She’s the only one who’d have permission to come upstairs and waltz into his room unannounced.
I quickly wrap the towel around my body, hair still dripping.
He cuts me a sidelong glance. “I’ll take care of this. Wait here.”
Then he leaves and walks back into the bedroom, shutting the bathroom door behind him. Through the wood, I can hear him ask, “What are you doing here?”
I don’t dare move. I’m rooted to the bathmat, clutching the towel, straining to hear what they’re saying. The answering voice is faint, so the only two words I can make out are “texted me.”
Christian responds and I can’t really hear him, so I move closer to the door like the nosey bitch I am. I mean, if there’s drama between Christian and another girl, then I’m entitled to know about it, right?
“You fucked her,” the girl yells loudly. “In front ofeveryone,Christian. How is that supposed to make me feel?”
Okay, well, it’s definitely Sara, and she’s definitely talking about me.
Great. Now, I can toss guilt onto the mountain of shame I’m already feeling. Sara was nice to me when very few people were—well, unless I count the time she drugged me with the water.Butthere’s a chance she didn’t know about that, so...
Christian must be closer to the door than Sara, because I can hear him sigh and say, “Sara, I’m fucking busy. We’ll talk about this tomorrow.”
“Busy?” she squeaks loudly. “Is she still here?”
Oh, no.
Before I can even reach out to lock the door, it’s wrenched open, a burst of cold air washing over me like a gust of wind. Sara stands in the doorway, fury flashing in her bright green eyes as her gaze sweeps over me, naked and dripping wet under the towel.
My cheeks burn with embarrassment, and my heart rate kicks up about a thousand notches. Ihateconfrontation, especially like this, with me in a towel, feeling like I’ve done something worth confronting.
I haven’t, and I know that logically, but tell that to my racing heart.
