Redemptive (Combative, #2)(35)
22
Bailey
If I thought being cooped up in the house was bad, it was nothing compared to being in a windowless room with nothing but a mattress on the floor. The counting in my head stopped at two hundred and restarted again. Over and over this went on, and none of the times brought me closer to knowing anything.
I tried to sleep to make the days go faster, but when your head’s filled with too many questions and your mind can’t switch off, sleep is impossible. I wondered what Nate was doing, where he was going, and stupidly, who he was with. In the confines of the house we could be whomever we wanted, but out there, I had no idea who he truly was.
I sat up in bed when I heard footsteps upstairs. My initial fear was replaced with excitement when the basement door opened, and Nate came down. He stood at the end of the mattress and looked down at me, arching a single brow. “Have you been in bed all day?”
I made a show of looking around the room at the nothingness that filled it. “What else am I going to do?”
He huffed out a breath dramatically and threw himself on the mattress, landing on his back next to me. “Fuck,” he clipped. “This is so uncomfortable.” He reached up and moved the hair away from my face. His eyes were soft, his brow bunched as if he was questioning something, hoping that he’d see the answers in me. Whatever excitement I felt fled when he sighed and averted his gaze.
“Did you have a bad day?” I asked.
He shook his head, his eyes distant.
“Did I do something?”
“No,” he said through another sigh, and then he cleared his throat and sat up a little, facing me. “Did you ever date, Bailey?”
“No. Why?”
He shrugged. “Just wondering what kind of guys you’re into.”
“I’m not really into any kind of guy…” I said slowly. “Why? What’s this about?”
“Nothing.”
“Nate… what’s going on?”
He tapped my knee twice, but still refused to look at me. “I don’t know. I guess I’m just wondering what’s happening here.”
“Here?”
“Between us, I mean. I don’t really know what to make of it.”
I shrugged, not knowing what to say. I opened my mouth, willing words to leave me. They never did.
“Do you think—” he broke off and released a breath.
I tried to kiss him, but he pulled away.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m just confused, I guess. I’ve had a shitty day, and I need to clear my head, and I need to get out of this f*ckin’ room.”
“Okay,” I whispered, trying to hide the hurt in my voice.
He stood up and left, never once looking back, and I returned to the counting, fighting the tears and the voices in my head.
Tiny came down and brought me food. I administered my meds on my own for the first time. And then I got back into bed and embraced the numbness that would help me get through the pain and the heartache that seemed to be my life.
*
I sat up when the basement door opened hours later. After a moment, Nate stood over me.
“What are you doing?” he asked casually.
“Trying to sleep.”
“Can we talk?”
My anger flared. I lay back down and flipped to my side, pushing my face into the pillow. “You can do whatever you want. It’s your house.”
He leaned against the wall next to the mattress and rubbed his eyes. “I’m sorry, Bailey.”
“I don’t care,” I said, voice strained from holding back tears. I hated the way he could do this to me, make me hate him and want him at the same time.
“Can you at least sit up and look at me?”
“No.”
“Please?”
I sat up quickly and glared at him. “What do you want, Nate?”
He licked his lips, his eyes locked with mine. After a moment, he looked away. He could never look me in the eye when he knew he was hurting me. He swallowed loudly, his voice husky when he said, “Bailey, I don’t know what to make of any of this…”
“Any of what?”
“This.” He pointed his finger between us. “You and me.” He paused for a beat, gathering his thoughts. “I question why we’re doing what we’re doing. And as much as I don’t want to, I have to question everything.” His voice shook when he added, “You need to be honest with me, Bailey.”
“I’ve never not been honest with you. I have no reason to lie.”
“Are you using me?” he asked, the huskiness gone and replaced with anger. “Are you with me because you think it’ll weaken me to let you go?”
“No!” I snapped. “Jesus Christ, Nate, what the hell kind of person do you think I am?”
“I think you’re desperate and that you’d—”
“Fuck you!”
“Goddammit, Bailey.” He threw his hands in the air and started pacing. “I can’t stop thinking about you. I can’t stop missing you or wanting you, and it’s wrong. Right? To feel that?” But he wasn’t asking me, he was asking himself.
I inhaled sharply, my heart pounding, breaking, healing—all at once.