Burn Before Reading(47)

He snorted. "I hate getting drunk at those sorts of things. People turn into idiots so quickly. Myself included."

"Is Fitz okay?"

"Yeah. He's always enjoyed pushing my buttons. And it always comes to a head. But not like that. I blame the alcohol."

"Why were you drinking if you hate it?"

"I was nervous."

"Why?"

He narrowed his eyes. "You ask why way too frequently for comfort."

"Sorry, can't help it - naturally curious. Or annoying, depending on who you ask."

Wolf cleared his throat. "I was nervous...about seeing you." I opened my mouth, but he flinched. "If you ask why again, so help me -"

"Alright!" I held my hands up in surrender. "We can leave it at that. I won't even dig into it. Much. Good shrinks take what they can get, and infer the rest."

"No, see -" He crossed his arms over his chest. "That’s exactly what I don't want. You inferring things about me."

"Why?" I stopped. "I mean, uh, because you think I'll infer wrong?"

"You're running the risk of deciding things on your own," He said slowly. "If you get used to your inferences, you can lose sight of reality. Things aren't what you decide they are - they are what they are, whether you can understand them or not."

I laughed, suddenly nervous. "I don't get it."

"Inferring is easy," He leaned forward, eyes riveted to mine. I couldn't look away if I tried. "It's someone deciding in their mind, whether they're right or wrong, what something means. Rather than let that thing hang, scary and unknown, they give it a meaning to feel more secure about it. But if they've inferred wrong, they could end up hurting someone with that."

"Uh, can I have an example?"

Wolf exhaled. "Fine. Me, for example. The reason I was nervous about seeing you. You're going to infer from it that I...like you, or some garbage like that. But I don't. I was nervous about seeing you because – “

I watched his throat bob with a hard swallow. It wouldn't take a textbook to realize he was uneasy, reluctant to say the next few words. I searched my memories for something, anything that could make someone as put-together as Wolf squirm. And then it hit me.

"Because of the pool thing," I said. "I tried to - I almost - touched you."

Wolf flexed his jaw, then nodded shortly.

"I didn't mean to," I blurted. "I'm sorry. I don't know what came over me, I just -"

"It's fine."

"It's not fine!" I stood up. "Look, I read a lot, okay? The textbooks say phobias like yours aren't to be messed with lightly."

The sun carved his face in doubt. "How did you know I have a phobia?"

My stomach dropped out. "It's obvious. You never touch anyone. You flinch away if someone gets too close. You always spin your rings when you’re thinking, and when someone gets close you spin them fast. The only time I've seen you touch someone was that night when you fought Fitz, but you said you were buzzed. Your inhibitions were lowered. And that was the only time."

Wolf stopped spinning a ring on his finger, like he caught himself in the act.

"How many people have you told?" He demanded, eyes just beginning to stoke with emerald brimstone.

"None, I promise. I don't think anybody's caught on. They just think you're a jerk."

"Better a jerk than a freak," He muttered.

"You're not a freak."

Wolf laughed, the sound reverberating. "We're social animals, scholarshipper. Babies without touch grow up stunted. Touch is vital. To be afraid of something so simple and integral and easy for everyone else -" He clenched his gloves in his hand. "Is freakish. Stupid. Immature."

The last three words didn't sound like his own. They sounded hollow, like a recording of a memory.

"It sounds like you're just reciting those last three words. Like, you've heard someone say them to you a lot, and you're just repeating them."

Wolf's eyes flashed dangerously. I wasn't going to press him about it. I couldn't press him about it - it was his past to bear, even if I wanted to know badly what it was, how he got such scars.

"It's okay," I said slowly. "I'm trying to save my Dad, and you're repeating words from someone in your past. It happens. Shit happens. We're both fucked up and shit happens."

"Maybe you're inferring wrong," He snarled.

"No. Not with your reaction, I'm not. I'm right, aren't I?"

The grandfather clock ticked between our silence again. Wolf didn't say anything, his quiet all the confirmation I needed.

"You said my name," He spoke finally.

"What?"

"On your lawn. You said my name. So now we've both said each other’s'."

I thought back to it. He was right. I did. It’d been easy, like it should’ve always been.

"Maybe you’re getting less prideful," I offered.

"And maybe you're growing up," He retorted.

"God, I hope not. I like not paying taxes."

He leaned back into the couch. "Fitz won't stop moaning about how he'll have to pay taxes on his trust fund."