Page 25 of Don't Leave Me Behind
I tighten my arms around her and nod. I know exactly what she means. “I think I might hate me a little.”
For the first time since the hug started, she moves to reciprocate, letting one hand sink into my hair, the other wrapping around my neck. Pushing her hips into mine, she buries her head into the crook of my neck. Her right hand squeezes my neck while the nails on her left scrape my scalp.
“I think we all hate ourselves a little.”
“You don’t hate yourself, do you?” I tighten my grip on her, a possessive kind of protectiveness swelling up inside of me.
“Sometimes,” she breathes, her voice barely audible after what feels like the world’s longest pause. I tuck her in closer, dropping my head to her shoulder.
“Talk to me. What’s going on with you?”
She stiffens in my arms, her back going ramrod straight, arms fighting to come down. I go to pull away, every fiber of my being repelled at the thought of making her uncomfortable. She grips my wrists, keeping my arms around her, loose enough that she can turn in them. “You’re gonna have to hold me through this, if you can.” Her sweet voice is muffled by my chest.
“I can.” I tighten my hold on her, one hand pressed against her back, pulling her close. “I won’t let go.”
“I lost my job...and my housing.”
“Lost your job?” I rear back, looking down at her. She keeps her face pressed into my chest, nodding. “How? Didn’t you build that creative writing program yourself?”
It’s her turn to rear back, pretty green eyes widening as she looks at me. “How did you?—”
“You realize you’re the only exciting thing your family talks about, right? They were so proud of you for creating that program.”
She shakes her head, pressing it back into my chest.
“You seem surprised.”
“I am,” she sighs, letting her hands wander up my back. This tank top is not nearly enough fabric between us. I can feel the warmth emanating from every one of her fingertips. The heat of them branding my skin, making me want more.
“At the risk of sounding like a broken record, what happened with you and the family?”
“You,” she whispers.
“Me?” I pull back, sliding a hand onto the side of her face, forcing her to look at me.
“I went to see you. I…I didn’t have a phone when I was on my way back, and something…happened.” A shaky breath leaves her lips, her eyes squeezing shut.
A moment passes, her silence killing me. I know she got hurt, but I need to hear it from her. “What happened?” I beg. The eagerness in my voice snapping her eyes up to meet mine, fear creeping back in.
I’m about to apologize, worried she won’t continue now that I’ve interjected. But she sighs, her shoulders deflating as she continues. “I was mugged.” Her head drops, then lifts back. Her eyes meet mine with something hidden beneath them.
“I had to call my dad to come get me. No one trusted me after that. I was basically kept in lockdown.” She takes a deepbreath, shoulders slumping. Her backs tense beneath my hand. There’s something she’s not saying. Her words are too rehearsed. I want to call her on it, dig until she tells me the truth, but at least she’s talking. I don’t want to ruin whatever truce we have tonight. Hoping that maybe, down the line, she’ll be ready to tell me everything.
“The only reason they let me leave for school in Benson is because they had no legal grounds to stop me. They tried everything else to get me to stay. Ethan told me I wasn’t ready. Brooks said I’d never make it on my own. And mom,” she chokes on a sob. My heart shatters at the thought of her going through this without me. “She told me if I disobeyed them and left, they’d cut me off. Told me not to bother coming back.”
“Jesus.” I tug her back into me, wrapping her in my arms like a shield.
“She was just scared,” she justifies. “She called me a few days later to apologize, but the damage was done, you know? I didn’t come home that summer. Miya and I stayed in Benson. She went to school year-round, and I worked a shitty part-time job. Tried to keep busy. That’s the longest I’d ever been away from the ranch, from all of them.”
“Oh, Leni.” I cradle her head, stroking her hair, trying to comfort her. “Have you tried talking to them? Do they know you feel this way?”
A sharp, sardonic laugh shakes her shoulders. “Yeah, because that will help.”
Her voice is brittle with a bitterness I’ve never seen in her before. Leni was the glue that held the family together. The boys were always using her as a personal therapist. There was no problem, bad day, or argument that Leni couldn’t fix with her eternal optimism.
“How do you know, if you haven’t even tried?”
She scoffs, pushing out of my arms. “You’re hilarious, youknow that? Coming in here after ten years of acting like I don’t fucking exist, and now you want to be a part of my life? Now you want to tell me how to fix things? Why Clay? Why do you want to fix things?”
