Broken and Screwed 2

I swallowed over a lump. She thought I was beautiful?

“So beautiful,” she whispered to herself as she left. The door closed behind her, leaving the room in a shocked silence.

I was beautiful? I never thought of myself as beautiful.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

I was reeling from everything that had happened. Somehow, I ended up in a bathroom with Tiffany. She pressed cool washcloths to my face. For what, I wasn’t sure, but she was being nice. I frowned as she patted my forehead. “Why are you being nice to me?” Then I remembered she’d been crying out there. Why the tears? Did Tiffany Chatsworth actually have a heart? This wasn’t foreseeable.

Her lips pressed together as she drew the washcloth down the side of my face and wet it again. “Don’t get all worked up about it. This doesn’t mean we’re going to be friends. I just,” she frowned and lifted a shoulder. “I dunno. I guess I can relate, in some way. I suppose.”

“You can relate to being dumped by your parents?”

She took the washcloth to my face again. “You’ve never asked Hannah about our parents?”

“I don’t ask anyone about anything.”

Her eyes found me.

“I don’t usually want to know the answers.”

She gave me the washcloth and sat back on the toilet. Then she shrugged again. “Our dad left us. He left my mom when we were teenagers. I always wondered if it was because of us, if maybe we were too much to handle or something. I didn’t know.” She leaned forward and pressed fingers to her temples. She began to massage them as she continued, “And it wasn’t even because he had an affair or another family. He just left. He didn’t want to deal with having a family. That’s what my mom said. I guess I took it as we were too much or something.”

I frowned at her through the mirror. She was hunched over, but I wet the washcloth again. My mind was still reeling. My pulse was racing, but not as much. Maybe the cold water was helping, or maybe it was hearing her sob story. I sighed, “We all have a story, don’t we?”

“Hannah loved our dad. She was his little girl. Not me, I was more into baking and make-up and doing girl things. He took off when she was in seventh grade. That’s when she started sleeping with guys.”

“Isn’t that when she started dating Dylan?”

She shook her head as she continued to massage her temples. Her fingers were working harder, faster. “They started at the end of the summer. She started sleeping around the beginning of the year. That’s why I knew it wasn’t going to be good when they broke up. The ass**le. He did the same to her that our dad did. He just left her. His excuse wasn’t even a good one because now he’s with her roommate and he transferred here.”

“What about Beth?”

She looked up now, genuinely confused. “What about her?”

“I get why Hannah’s broken. Why’s Beth? What happened to her?”

She took a breath and stood up. Crossing to me, she wet the washcloth again and pressed it to the crook of my neck. “I don’t know. Beth and I aren’t close.”

I frowned, but then went with my hunch. It helped to think of their problems. My problems were bad, but in some way I didn’t feel like such a freak. “What’s your mom like?”

“Before Dad left? She was happy. After he left, she became a stoner. She was like a hippy.” Tiffany kept wetting the washcloth. She folded it over inside the sink and pressed down, then would wet it again. I shifted back as she continued that motion. “I think she was one when she was younger before she met our dad. Maybe that’s why Hannah’s like that, I don’t know. I took the mother role. My mom couldn’t handle it. She hasn’t handled much since, except some guy’s dick or pottery. She’s a genius at making pots. Go figure.”

My eyebrow arched at that one, but left it alone.

She jerked her head back up. “Why’d you ask about Beth?”

“Just curious.”

“Oh.” She frowned and looked back down. It was then that she realized what she was doing. She threw the washcloth to the side and backed away to the door.

I grinned at her. “Don’t worry. I won’t tell anyone about your momentary lapse in judgment.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You.” I gestured to her, then to me. “Being nice to me. I know we aren’t friends.”

Her hand fell from the handle. She leaned against it and crossed her arms over her chest. “You have a really horrible opinion of me.”

I shrugged. “You’ve been a bitch, so…yeah.”

A corner of her mouth lifted up before she dropped her arms. “I’m not a bitch because of my sister or whatever reasons you might think. And it’s not because I want Jesse—”

“But you do.”

She stopped.

“Want Jesse. You do want him.”

Her shoulders lifted as she took a breath. “Yeah, maybe, but I care about him.”

“So do I.”

“I know. Trust me, I know.” Her hand gestured towards the door. “I got it. I heard the history of you and him. And I’ve seen how he is with you. He’s not like the Jesse I met last year. You and him, and him and your brother had some bond that I’ll never compete against. I’m getting it. Trust me. Hearing all that was hard.”

I wasn’t sure what to say to that.