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Rules of a Rebel and a Shy Girl(70)

By:Jessica Sorensen


It takes all of my willpower not to cut him off right there.

“And I know you don’t want handouts from me—that’s not what this is. I promise. In fact, I was thinking that you could pay some rent. That way, you will feel more comfortable.” He sucks in a preparing breath. “Also, I know you’re probably thinking about the list and how its existence is a good reason not to move in with me, but I promise you it’ll only make the situation better because it gives us boundaries. It’ll keep us in line so we stay … just friends.” He swallows hard at the last part.

“I love the offer.” And part of me really does. “But I just don’t think it’s a good idea with everything going on. And besides, there’s no way I could afford to rent your place.”

“I know that,” he says. “And that’s why I want to make rent be whatever you can afford. It’s not like I need the money, so it doesn’t even matter. I’m only letting you pay rent because I know you won’t consider this unless I do.”

“I know you don’t need the money, but …” I rack my mind for an excuse. I’m scared. Scared to move. Scared to move in with a guy I kissed. Scared to move in with a guy I want to kiss. “Then why would you even want a roommate? I mean, people usually get roommates to split the cost of rent.”

“I don’t want to do this because I want a roommate,” he stresses. “I want to do this to take away some of the stress your mom’s put on you for years. And I know you want to move out of that apartment. You even called Wynter to see if you could rent a room from her.”

My head slants to the side, my brows knit. “Wynter called you and told you that?”

“Of course she did. She was worried about you. She cares about you.” He cups my hand between his. “She said you sounded upset … Did something happen?”

Cares?

Cares.

Cares.

Cares.

According to my mom, no one cares about me.

I shrug. “My mom came home, asking for money to buy drugs. That’s it. I don’t even know why I got so upset. It’s not like she’s never done that before.”

“Princess …” He holds my hand like it’s the most precious thing in the world. “It wasn’t okay any of the times she did it, and I think deep down you know that. You deserve so much better, even if you don’t think so.” He traces circles on the back of my hand with his thumb, watching me, as if waiting for me to say something. I know if I open my mouth, I just might fall apart. “Let me help you, please. I want to … I want to take care of you.”

“I don’t need anyone to take care of me. I’m fine.” I choke on the lie. The truth is, I want to accept his offer because I’m terrified of not getting a good enough job, of not being able to pay rent, of living my life while always worrying if my mom is dead. Of becoming the woman who stood in front of me in my bedroom, begging for money and destroying the snow globes my dad gave me just because I wouldn’t. The woman who told her own daughter no one cares about her.

I suck in a breath and another, trying to compose myself. I’ve been running on stress and anxiety for weeks now, and I feel like I’m standing on a cliff, about to fall.

He traces the folds of my fingers. “You’re not fine. I know you. I know you well enough to know you’re worrying about your mom. Just like how I know those bags under your eyes are because you didn’t sleep last night, probably because you worried about your mom and bills and God knows what else. I can help you if you’ll just let me.” His voice softens. “Just say yes, move in with me, and let me take some of the stress out of your life.”

He offers too much.

I want it too much.

“You’ve already taken care of my sorry ass too many times.” I rub my free hand across my forehead, feeling a headache coming on.

I wish I could fully explain to him why I can’t accept his help. Explain that I hate relying on people. I need to take care of myself. I hate trusting people when they generally break that trust, like my stupid father who thinks he can walk out then just come back and think everything is going to be okay. Like my mom who rips me to shreds when I don’t do what she wants. I want to explain how I’m scared all the damn time of failing, of turning into my mother, of being a terrible person, getting perfection then losing it, of losing Beck, of getting my heart broken. And not just broken, but broken by him …

What the hell? When did that change? When did I stop worrying about getting my heart broken in general to just worrying about Beck smashing my heart to pieces?