Breaking the Rules (Pushing the Limits, #1.5)(43)

I like Mrs. Collins, but I can’t look at her again if we share an analytical discussion regarding my sex life or, lack thereof, with Noah.

When I spread my fingers and peek at Mrs. Collins, her eyes have narrowed into slits. “That’s not everything.”

I lower my hands onto my lap. “Can’t it be enough?”

“I get the sense that there’s something else going on...”

She leaves her statement hanging as if it will bother me that something has been left unsaid, which, phsh, won’t work. I mean, just because the words just dangle in the air like a thousand pounds of rock doesn’t mean that I have to say something to close out the sentence. My knee bounces, and it causes the table to vibrate.

I’m not falling for it. Not at all... “Do you think Noah’s going to leave me?”

Aw, heck...my chin drops to my throat. Why did I ask that? I raise my head, hoping for a positive outcome to my slip. Mrs. Collins is good at putting things in perspective—good at making me discover things that are right in front of me.

What I prayed for doesn’t materialize as I meet her sad blue eyes. “I’m not a fortune teller, Echo.”

“It would be cool if you were.” I give her a weak grin, and she offers a genuine smile back.

“What makes you think Noah’s going to break up with you?”

I shrug, and Mrs. Collins leans forward so that her face encompasses the entire screen. “Tell me the first thing that pops into your mind. What makes you think Noah is going to leave you?”

I hate this game, but unfortunately, it’s effective. “I don’t know.”

“What do you eat at the movies?”

“Popcorn.”

“What color are you wearing?”

I glance down. “Blue.”

“What’s your middle name?”

“Cassandra.”

“Why do you think Noah’s going to leave you?”

“Because my mom did.” I honest to God groan after I answer. I’m so stinking pathetic.

“Why else?”

Evidently ripping out my heart and setting it on fire isn’t enough. Oh, sorry, it’s Mrs. Collins so no, she demands so much more—like my soul.

“Come on, Echo. Besides your mom, why do you think Noah’s going to leave you?”

“My dad left me.” Though not like Mom. He divorced Mom, married someone new and has begun a life that can continue fine without me. On top of that, my father ignored my desperate call to him for help the night I ended up with the scars. The night I almost died.

“Who else?” she says in a soft voice. “You know it’s safe to talk about it here.”

My lower lip trembles and I suck in a breath, trying to keep it all in: the words, the pain, the grief.

“Who else, Echo?” Mrs. Collins repeats as a lullaby.

“Aires left me,” I whisper.

She moves her camera so that the angle of her is less sharp horror film and more soft light. “We’ve been working together close to eight months and did you know that you rarely mention Aires?”

My head snaps up, and a wave of anger shouts at me to throw something at the screen. “Yes, I do.”

“Aires must have been a big part of your life, correct?”

There’s this ache deep within. Like millions of paper cuts. The type that happen quickly then continue to throb for days. Except this throb has lasted years, and each morning when I wake and think of Aires, it’s like someone pours alcohol over the open wound again and again. “I don’t want to talk about Aires.”

She nods as she scribbles into a file. I hate it when she does that. It’s like she’s tallying how many times those words have dripped out of my mouth.

“What about Noah?” I ask, trying to get the conversation back on course.

Mrs. Collins places the pen over the file and clasps her hands over it. “Let’s pause for a moment and see where our conversation has taken us. You’re afraid Noah’s going to leave you, yes?”

I bob my head in indifference because it feels like I’m cheating on Noah by even discussing this. “I guess.”

“You already feel like other people have left you.”

“My mom and dad,” I say for her.

“You also mentioned Aires.”

I pick at a fingernail instead of answering. “I asked about Noah.”

“Echo, I wonder if there are things we aren’t addressing. I wonder what you would say if I asked what Aires and Noah have in common.”

My eyes flash to hers. Noah walked into darkness, and it reminded me of Aires.

It’s like there are a thousand voices in my head and none of them belong to me. “I don’t want to talk anymore.”

With one click of the button, Mrs. Collins disappears.





Noah

With his legs kicked out on the bed, Isaiah relaxes with his back against the headboard. Beth rests her head against his shoulder and is absorbed in a movie they found on one of the five cable stations. She’s not as green as before, but dark circles mar the skin underneath her eyes, plus she hasn’t bitched yet. She must still feel like shit.

I returned thirty minutes ago to discover Echo missing. I showered, shaved and when I reemerged from the bathroom a half pound of cooking grease lighter, Echo stood near the window, peeking out the curtains. The moment I walked out we packed, in coordinated silence, what we’d need for the night. I zip up my pack and I say, “You ready, baby?”