Page 34 of Meet Cute

“I-I do, Dunk! I love you, I really do!”

“Stop calling me that!” All I can see is red. “No you don’t! You… you’re insane!”

Despite being useless from the waist down I lunge at him, hitting at his chest with my fists balled up tight. Tears roll down my cheeks, each hit weaker than the last. This is so pathetic. I’m so pathetic.

“It’s okay,” he coos with a sniffle. Even though I’m trying to hurt him he holds me tight, brushing his nose against my hair. “You’re okay, Duncan.”

He fiddles with something in his pocket, gently nudging me back so I can't give my attention to anything other than him. I’m sure I'm hideous right now, with nasty eye bags and a permanent scowl. But Finn eats me up with his eyes in a way that makes me feel special, like my flaws don't matter.

It’s not until our lips tentatively meet that I realize we’re kissing. He’s clumsy, clearly not used to this at all. His tongue feels too thick and wet, pushing past my lips to force my mouth open just a bit. Only when I swallow something small and circular do I realize he’s tricked me.

But by then it’s too late.

TWENTY-SIX

“C’mon,” Finn’s voice is soft—almost distant sounding, “I made breakfast for you, Dunk.”

He’s got that same frantic desperation like when I thought he was letting me leave. That same stupid face that screams “I’m so desperate” with pupils blown so wide you’d think he was on drugs.

“What…?” I rasp, trying and failing to sit up. My entire body feels lax, my limbs must be sleeping even if my brain isn’t. “What did you give me, Finn? What was that…?”

Every syllable comes out at an agonizingly slow pace, and part of me isn’t even sure what I’m saying is understandable. His attention falls on me, but I don’t think he's really looking at me. It’s as though I’m made of glass—there but not really there.

“Just… it was something to help ease your nerves,” he explains without meeting my eyes. “You were getting really… worked up. I-I just… I got scared.” Finn hesitates, before coming closer and cupping my cheek. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Duncan. I know—”

“How many times are you gonna apologize?” The tone of my voice is anything but happy. “You always say sorry, but you don’t stop. You just keep going, and going, and…” It’s too tiring to keep going. I’m only wasting my breath, anyway.

Finn finally faces me, and his expression softens completely. For a second it seems like he’s finally going to chill out, but of course that would be too easy—and nothing about him is easy.

“I’m trying my best…” he takes a deep breath that does fuck all to help him. “I don’t… This is… It’s not what I thought. It’s s-scary… I’m scared, Duncan. I want to be good for you. I want you to see how much you matter… but I keep m-messing it up!”

His shorter frame jerks back, both hands shooting up to grab aimlessly at his shaggy brown hair. Fried split ends poke out through the gaps between his fingers, but I’m more focused on how tightly his eyes are squeezed shut.

“I fucked it up!” Finn whines, turning away from me entirely. “You hate me. All I wanted was for you to see… for… Fuck! F-Fuck! Fuck!” His voice gets louder and louder until he slams the dark wood table, the impact making the plates and glasses rattle.

I shouldn’t want to comfort him. I know that much. But when all my life I’ve had to talk my dad down from his own flare ups, it’s become a sort of second nature. All I know is how to take care of other people, even if it ends up harming me in the end.

“You can’t just… ignore it.” Each word feels like throwing up shards of glass, and it’s a mistake I know I’ll regret. “What you did is wrong, and we both know that. But you keep pretending it’s fine.”

Finn turns his head enough to actually see me, wearing the biggest frown on his acne-scarred face. “...It’s not fine. I-I know it’s not. I’m so… so stupid… so stupid for thinking this would work.”

“What was even your plan?” I chuckle even though nothing about this is even remotely funny. “You thought what? You’d lock me in a basement until I loved you?”

Tiredly, he grimaces. The exhaustion he wears is etched into his otherwise soft features. I don’t think I can blame him, though. The little I know about him is pretty damn depressing.

Waking up early every morning, he works thanklessly at a shitty gas station and presumably has to drive back here every night. This lonely little home so far away from the rest of the world, so isolated and quiet. Then he does it all again, day in and day out.

“I know it’s stupid. You don’t have to laugh.”

“I’m just trying to understand, Finn.”

With balled up fists, he weakly throws himself onto me. Nuzzling into the crook of my neck, he sniffles. “You can’t understand. I-I don’t make sense. I’m stupid… I’m a… retard.”

Hearing him call himself that makes my heart break. “No, you aren’t. Don’t say that.”

“I am,” he argues. “Look at me. Look at the f-freaking mess I’ve made. You were the only good thing I had, and I… I ruined it. I can’t fix this. Can’t make you not hate me…”

“But I don’t hate you.”