Page 33 of Meet Cute

“I know,” he corrects. “Please don’t be mad at me. I… you have a lot to be mad about, I know. But… I wanna be better. I can be better, it’s… scary. B-But I can do it. I’ll do it for you.”

“You should want to do it for yourself, Finn.”

Finn’s expression sours, and he huffs. “I’m nothing. I’m not worth anything. But you… you cared. You care. I know you do. So, I have to try. For you. I wish you could understand…”

His train of thought isn’t making any sense, but I know better than to try and argue with him. I’m nothing if not a fast learner. “Okay. If… If that’s what you think.”

I go to turn back on my other side. It should probably hurt a lot more to move the way I am, but I’m so doped up on painkillers it’s a mild annoyance at best. I know that’s not forever. Once it wears off I’m going to be in the most agonizing pain I’ve felt in my life.

But Finn doesn’t let me get away, pulling me flush against his chest instead.

“You’re mad. Don’t be mad at me. Couples… couples shouldn’t go to bed when they’re mad at each other. I-I saw that online.”

I wince at the c-word. “I’m not mad. Just… concerned, I guess.”

“Because you care.” Finn pulls me in even closer, planting a ton of kisses on top of my head. “You care about me. I care about you, too.”

“Yeah,” I concede. “I do care about you, Finn.”

He practically squeals at the revelation, giggling to himself before nuzzling against me with a desperate whimper. “I love you, Dunk. So much. I love you, I love you, I love you…”

It goes on like that for far too long. Despite his death grip and babbling I manage to fall asleep, waking up all on my own in his scary ass room. The birds outside are chirping, and I guess it snowed last night since a thin sheet of the stuff is covering everything.

Dragging myself to the edge of the bed, I do my best to peer out the four-paned window. Maybe I was hoping to see another building outside, something that lets me know we aren't out in the middle of nowhere.

But it’s only trees. Miles and miles of trees.

Yawning, my eyes dart around the room in a weak attempt to make sense of things. In the bright morning sun it’s easier to make out the little details, like how dirty the carpet is or how there doesn’t seem to be any photos of anyone anywhere. No childhood photos, no family photos, just… nothing. Empty frames with nothing inside.

A wooden model sits on top of his shelf, and my heart flutters for the briefest second. It’s the same one from that time we went to the mall. It makes me oddly happy to know he ended up doing it. I knew he could.

The door is open a crack, and I can hear the sizzling of something in the kitchen. His house doesn’t seem all that big, so I can’t be noisy if I wanna snoop. The bed isn’t super high off the ground, but I still have no clue how to get down.

Landing on my chest sounds great until I actually do it, since my legs follow shortly after and slam into the carpet which isn’t as soft as I hoped it would be. Squeezing my eyes shut, I take a few shallow breaths.

Rolling over onto my back hurts. The pain only worsens over time. Radiating throughout my whole body, coursing through every vein and making sure I know how fucked I am.

But when my eyes open again the pain is the last thing on my mind. His popcorn ceiling is a pale light gray, but you can’t see most of it since every square foot is covered with some type of photo.

Photos of me. Selfies from my Instagram. Posts from my family members that tagged me on Facebook. Screenshots from the gas station’s CCTV footage. I’m going to be sick.

They get worse towards the middle of the ceiling. Blurry pictures printed out onto plain white paper, showing me walking around town. Pictures from outside my room looking in. Sleeping. Dimly lit photos of me sleeping taken from inside my room.

“Dunk? I heard a noise, are you—?” Hinges squeak as the door opens fully, with Finn stopping dead in his tracks the minute he realizes he’s been caught. “That’s not… it’s not what you think.”

“You stalked me?”

“...I’m sorry.”

“Stop saying that,” I mumble through grit teeth. “You’re not f-fucking sorry. You can’t be.”

Finn looks down at me before hoisting me up onto the bed, sitting me upright. “I am. I really am. It’s weird. I-I know it’s weird. Please, Duncan. Please—”

“Please what? Why the hell are you always saying that? What do you want?”

“I love you.”

“No, you don’t.”