Page 26 of Malaise
“They’re just trying to cut you down because they’re jealous bitches.” He nods as though agreeing with himself.
“Jealous of what though?” I throw my hands up in frustration. How can he say that when they’re… well, them? They have well-off families who live on the side of town where your average house is six bedrooms and two bathrooms. Where the yard is mowed every Tuesday by Rod Reeves—the hoarder who lives the next street over from me. They never want for anything: friends, interest from guys, or the latest fashion. “Why do they waste their time on me? What the hell could I have that they’d want, or at least, want to ruin?”
“Confidence.”
I stare at Carver with an eyebrow cocked. “You must be smoking some good stuff. I’m not confident.” I’m far from it. Surely he can see that?
“Yes you are.”
I let out a huff, pulling a face at him. “Whatever.”
Carver crosses his arms, his T-shirt pulling in all the right places as he leans back into his door. “Go on then, tell me why you’re not.”
“Look at me,” I exclaim, sweeping my hands the length of me. “Does a girl who’s confident hide behind oversized tank tops and dark denim? Does she dress like a tomboy?”
“Yeah. Tanya dresses like a tomboy.”
“Nuh-uh.” I wave my finger at him. “She might not be in a dress or anything, but she’s girly. She does her nails, has perfect hair and beautiful make-up. Me? Huh. Yeah, not girly at all.”
“Sure don’t look like a boy to me.” He smirks.
Damn my traitorous cheeks. I look back to the window to hide my embarrassment. “I didn’t say I did, but I’m not, you know….”
“Nope. Don’t know. What?” he deadpans.
Arsehole. I sigh out of exasperation. “Pretty.”
He says nothing, the silence heavy between us. I sweat, my heart knocking on my ribcage. Eyes on the door handle, I’m seconds away from lurching out of the car so I can breathe again when his touch literally has me jumping in the seat.
“Hey.” Carver’s fingers brush against the underside of my chin, coaxing me to look his way.
I give in, but with my eyes closed, and turn back to him with a frown pinching between my eyebrows.
“Look at me, Meg.”
“Ugh.”
“Come on….” His words are humoured, his tone playful. “You’re hurting my feelings.”
“Don’t be silly,” I say with a smile, snapping my eyes open.
The intensity in his makes my next breath catch in my throat.
“You are pretty. You’re more than pretty. You’re unique, confident in who you are, and unafraid to show that to the world. You’re brave, and even though you might not feel it today, you’re strong enough to get through this.” His fingers graze a gentle path along my jaw as he speaks, returning to my chin where he drags them upward to brush the underside of my bottom lip.
It’s the most erotic touch I’ve ever experienced. It’s the only non-platonic touch I’ve ever experienced. Friends don’t touch each other like this, they don’t talk with their lips mere inches apart, and they sure as hell don’t look at each other in that way.
What does he want from me? Really?
“Do you believe me, Meg?”
God, how I wish I could say yes. He makes me sound so badass, like a damn warrior against this unfair and fucked up world. But I’m not the girl he sees—I’m fooling him just the same as everyone else. He doesn’t see her, the real me, the scared me. The girl who’s barely holding on to herself.
“Meg.” His thumb makes a pass over my lip, and I reel back.
“No,” I bite out. “I don’t see it.”
“Why not?” His hand hovers between us as though he’s unsure what to do with it, before he rests it in his lap.