Page 135 of What We Break
She didn't deserve what I said. She didn't deserve any of it. She came downstairs for coffee, happy and relaxed, because she loves Reid, because she spent the night with him, because that's what people do when they're in a relationship.
And I made her feel like garbage for it.
Because I'm falling apart and I don't know how to stop.
I used to have a system. Work until my hands ache. Sleep when my body gives out. Be there for Reid when he needs me. Keep everyone else at arm's length. It wasn't pretty, but it worked. I was stable. I was fucking functional.
Then she showed up.
She didn't do anything wrong. That's the part that's killing me. She just existed. Loved Reid. Was kind to me without expecting anything back. Asked about my projects like she actually cared. Made me food without being asked. Laughed at my terrible jokes.
She treated me like I was worth knowing.
And something in me that I thought was deader than a fucking doornail started waking up.
I grab a piece of scrap wood and hurl it across the workshop. It hits the far wall with a satisfying crack and clatters to the floor. I want to throw more. Want to destroy everything.
But I don't. I just stand there, breathing hard, staring at the mess I made.
She smelled the perfume. I saw it on her face. The moment she registered it, there was a flash across her face — what? Hurt? Surprise?
It doesn't mean anything. She's a good person. She cares about people. That's all it is.
But for one second, the way her face changed?—
No. I'm not doing this. Not turning her kindness into something it isn't because I'm desperate and pathetic and so fucking lonely I can't see straight.
She loves Reid. Reid loves her. That's the whole story.
And even if it wasn't. Even if there was some impossible world where she looked at me the way she looks at him. I would never. I could never.
Reid is the only reason I'm still alive. After Jared died, after everything fell apart, Reid gave me a purpose. A reason to get up in the morning. He never asked for anything except my friendship, and I've been repaying him by wanting his girlfriend so badly my brain short-circuits every time she's in the room.
Some friend I am.
I sink onto the workshop stool and put my head in my hands. Leanne's perfume is still on my shirt. Last night I thought it would help. Thought maybe if I touched someone else, I could burn Laine out of my system.
It didn't work. Nothing works.
I'm losing it.
Sleeping less. Drinking more. Staying out in the workshop until my hands cramp and my eyes burn, just so I don't have to be in the same room as her. Snapping at people who don't deserve it. Saying shit I don't mean because if I'm sharp enough, they'll back off. Stay away. Leave me alone.
I wasn't like this before. Quiet, yeah. Grumpy bastard, sure. But not mean.
She's turned me into someone I don't recognize.
No. That's bullshit and I know it. She didn't do a damn thing. This is me. My weakness. My pathetic fucking inability to keep a lid on what I feel. She's just living her life, loving Reid, being happy. And I'm out here cracking apart because I can't stand to watch it.
Jared would be ashamed of me.
That one lands and I can't redirect fast enough.
Jared, who was good. Who was kind in a way that wasn't performance, wasn't effort, just was. Who never would have let jealousy rot him from the inside out like this. Jared, who trusted me to look after his little brother. Who died thinking I was someone worth believing in.
I'm not. I'm really fucking not.
I hear a car start outside. Laine leaving. Going home to shower and change and try to forget that her boyfriend's best friend is an asshole.
