Without Merit(64)

Hesitation marks his expression as he searches for an answer. He releases a quiet sigh and then strokes his thumb across my knee. “Do you want the honest truth?” He brings his eyes to mine and I nod. He folds his lips together for a moment and then says, “The more I got to know you . . . the less I liked you.”

It takes a moment for his response to fully register. “You don’t like me?”

He lets his head fall back against the swing with a regretful sigh. “I like you today.”

I let out a halfhearted laugh. “Oh, well that’s reassuring. You like me today, but you didn’t like me yesterday?”

He looks at me pointedly. “I especially didn’t like you yesterday.”

I can’t tell if I should be mad. I stare at him a little in shock. I feel like I should be mad, but at the same time, I get it. I didn’t like me yesterday, either. And I really haven’t been myself around him since he started showing up at the house. I’m closed off and rude and I’ve barely spoken to him up until the past twenty-four hours.

“I have no idea what to say to that, Sagan.” I look down at my skirt and start picking at a splatter of dried purple paint. “I mean, I know I’ve been rude to you, but it was self-preservation. I thought you were my sister’s boyfriend and I didn’t like how I felt about you. You were the first thing of hers I wanted for myself.”

Sagan doesn’t respond right away. I continue to pick dried paint off my skirt because I’m feeling way too many things to make eye contact with him right now.

“Merit.” He says my name like it’s a plea for me to look at him. I eventually do and I immediately regret it because everything I see in his expression right now is everything I didn’t want to see. Regret. Fear. A preview to rejection.

“Let me guess,” I whisper. “You still don’t like me enough to kiss me?”

He lifts a hand and touches my cheek. He shakes his head softly and says, “I like you enough to kiss you. Believe me. But I just wish you could like yourself as much as I like you.”

I don’t even know what to say to that. Does he think I don’t like myself because of what I did last night? “I already told you last night was a drunken mistake. I like myself just fine.”

“Do you?”

I roll my eyes. Of course I do. I think. “So I have moments of unhappiness. What teenager doesn’t? Everyone sometimes wishes they were someone else. Someone better. With a better family.”

He shakes his head. “I’ve never wished that.”

I peg him with my stare, silently calling him on his bullshit. “You said yourself you’ve never even met your little sister. If you tell me you don’t wish you had a different family, I won’t believe you. Just like you don’t believe me that last night meant nothing.”

Sagan holds my stare, long enough for me to notice the slow roll of his throat. He releases me, then stands up. He slips his hands in his pockets as he looks down at the ground and kicks at the dirt. I have no idea what I just said that made him angry, but his temperament has changed completely.

“You keep downplaying what happened last night, and to be honest, it’s kind of insulting,” he says. “You don’t get to decide what your life means to anyone else.” He pulls his hands from his pockets and folds them over his chest. “You could have died, Merit. That’s huge. And until you recognize that, I don’t want to pursue anything with you. I think you have a lot that needs to be addressed and I don’t want to cloud that with whatever is going on here.” He motions between us with his hand. “This can wait.”

My face grows warm with the embarrassment climbing over me. “You think I’m too unstable for you to date me?”

He lets out a frustrated sigh. “I didn’t say that. I just think you need to work on yourself first. Take your father’s suggestion and go to therapy. Make sure there’s nothing more serious going on.” He closes the gap between himself and the swing where I’m sitting. He kneels in front of me, gripping the swing to still it. “If I interfere and allow myself to start something up with you, your feelings for me might lead you to believe you’re happier than you really are.”

I can feel my fingers trembling, so I clench them into fists. I’m flabbergasted. He can word it however he wants, but he has the nerve to sit here and tell me he thinks I’m too depressed to date right now?

“Get over yourself,” I mutter. I push off the swing and he stands up to move out of my way. I walk toward the house, but when he calls my name, I start running. My stupid, loud skirt adds a serious level of ridiculousness to my anger. By the time I make it to the house, I slam the door so hard I’m afraid I might have woken Moby.

Who does Sagan think he is? He won’t pursue me because I might get “too happy” with him and that elation could mask my supposed depression? “Get over yourself,” I say again as I shut my bedroom door. Just because I’ve been unhappy lately doesn’t mean I’m depressed. I unbutton my stupid dress and let it fall to the floor. I barely have a T-shirt over my head when Sagan walks into my bedroom without knocking.

I spin and face him and he closes the door, walking toward me. Apparently he isn’t finished with this conversation like I am. “You accuse everyone else in your family of not having the courage to be honest, but the second I’m honest with you, you get mad at me and walk away?”