Page 133 of Ecstasy
It isn’t okay. It’ll never be okay. I’m not okay. I’m not fine.
I’mnot fine.
I can’t stop the tears from rolling down my cheeks and I hate that they’re here, in his arms. I hate it, because this isn’t where I want to be.
This isn’t where I want to be. I don’t deserve it.
Alex has a good heart.
Sometimes I think I was born without one. Just like Eli.
42
Zara
“We need more orange juice,”Alex informs me as I sit in the passenger seat of his Jeep. It’s Wednesday, and I begged him to take me outside.
A week and a half until Halloween and the weather feels like fall. His windows are cracked as we sit in the parking lot of the empty grocery store—apparently, no one comes for a shop at nine in the morning on hump day.
“Uh huh,” I tell him, glancing down at my fresh pink polish, wiggling my toes in my sandals. I refused to get a pedicure mostly because I wanted to refuse anything Alex wanted to do.
The past few days I’ve downed a few pots of coffee with half-and-half, and not much else, and I’m still a raging bitch. But I finally did let Alex paint my nails in bed last night, and he didn’t do a horrible job at it, either.
It was almost amusing to watch him use a cotton ball to dab at my skin when he went off track.
He sighs, turning to look at me, his phone in his hands as he makes a list of shit we need. “You said the orange juice was helping.”
I pat my stomach beneath the tight black t-shirt I’m wearing over my fitted black sweats. “My waistline doesn’t like the sugar.”
His eyes nearly bug out of his head. “You’re fucking with me, right?” He flicks his gaze over my body and despite my general irritation with fucking life, I feel my core tighten.
The past few nights he’s slept on the couch.
I considered making a run for it, but decided against it. Mainly because I just don’t have the energy. I’m fucking exhausted, even though I’ve done fuck-all.
“No, I amnotfucking with you.”
“You’re a stick.”
My mouth falls open. “That’s… Wow, that’s probably the rudest fucking thing you’ve said about me.” Then I tilt my head to the side, tap my finger against my chin, pretending to think. “Oh, wait. No. That must’ve been when you called me a fucking cunt.”
He rolls his eyes and shoves his phone into the pocket of his sweats.
“Let’s go,” he says, ignoring my comment. He reaches for the door handle but turns to stare at me when he realizes I’m not moving.
“What now, Zara?” he asks, irritation in his words.
I just stare at him for a long moment, looking at the amber in his dark eyes. “Why are you doing this?”
He frowns. “You need help.”
“You’re not doing this for me.”
He flinches, but just keeps staring at me. I can practically feel the tension in the Jeep, despite the fact the windows are down, and I can hear traffic from the main road behind us. It feels like we’re in a warpath in here beside each other, and every little misstep is like detonating a fucking bomb.
“You’re doing this for her. And I’m not her, Alex.”
He keeps staring at me, and I feel that irritation pricking again, just under my skin. I want to get out and slam the door and call my mom myself and tell her to pick me up. But I have no doubt Alex would be on her ass in a minute if I did that.
