Chapter Six
Vince
“Vince, wait.”
I did not expect her to follow me, but here she comes outside in the freezing cold to follow me to my apartment. I steal a glance back, expecting anger or at the very least irritation, but she still looks concerned.
Damn, does this girl have a lick of sense?
I’m a mess; stay away.
Apparently she doesn’t, because she barges right into my apartment like always—but this time after I ransacked hers while hurling nonsensical accusations at her.
I try to ignore her, but she grabs my arm like she can stop me. I’m unimpressed by her efforts, but I guess I shouldn’t be since it works—I stop walking and turn back to face her.
“Carly, just go home.”
“No,” she says, her chin jutting out in a show of stubbornness. “You’re upset.”
“I just tore all your shit apart—who cares if I’m upset?”
“Not all of my shit. A small portion of my shit,” she says, minimizing the damage. “And I don’t care about that. It’s just stuff. You didn’t light it on fire; you just gave me a few extra household chores.”
“Why are you so nice to me?” I demand, scowling at her again.
“I’m trying to be your friend,” she states, still holding onto my arm. “You don’t exactly make it easy.”
“So why do you keep trying? Just stop. No one’s asking you to keep trying.”
She releases my arm and her hands come to rest on her hips. I can tell in her face I’m starting to aggravate her—and it’s about damned time.
Instead of leaving like a reasonable person, she tells me, “Sometimes people who need love the most show it in the most unloving ways. You’ve been needlessly mean to me since I moved in here, so I’m pretty sure you’re starving for something. You’re not likely to find it if you push away every single person who tries to get close. I’ve done nothing to offend you, so I assume you push away anyone who tries to get close. Also, you know, a lot of women get turned off by shit like that back there, and I’m not even sure your face or body can make up the difference,” she adds, pointing toward her apartment.
“You should’ve been turned off long before that,” I mutter.
Shrugging like it’s insignificant, she says, “You can keep trying if it makes you feel safer, but I’m going to keep bugging you. You’re not going to scare me off. I’m going to keep trying to be your friend. I don’t care if you’re one of those Morellis or you’re not. As long as I feel like you need me, I’m going to keep showing up on your doorstep.”
“Don’t say shit like that if you’re not going to back it up.”
Her gaze sharpens briefly. I feel like I’m bleeding a little, just having said that. She finally shakes her head, moving in closer. Now I’m the one who should run for my life, but now she’s the one backing me up against the wall. “I won’t,” she says, simply.
I have no idea what we’re doing here, but it’s hell on my nerves. Her hands tentatively come to rest on my sides and she moves in, her body brushing mine. Then she wraps her arms around me more tightly, rests her head against my chest, and hugs me.
It’s innocent as can be, but it makes my heart rate kick up a few speeds regardless.
I don’t hug her back, but she holds onto me for a full minute anyway. When she pulls back, her blue eyes are clear, maybe a touch optimistic. “Now, we didn’t even get to my favorite red kryptonite Clark episode. Why don’t you come back over so I can convince you this is a good show?”
“You’re something else, aren’t you?”
Smiling, she lets her hand drift down to catch mine. I can’t believe she has the balls to hold my hand after all this, but she grabs it like she has a right to and hauls me back out the door.
I let her. I pull the door shut behind me, and though I’m still confused as hell as to why she even wants me to, I follow the irrational neighbor girl back to her apartment.
—
I stare at the empty notebook lying open on my kitchen table, each empty line taunting me. What I want to be doing, what I need to be doing, is filling it with plans. Jotting down ideas, filing away information.
Instead, I’m making a grocery list.
Carly comes up behind me, bracing her hands on the back of my chair and leaning over my shoulder to peer at it. “Did you forget the recipe? We can just use mine. It’s really yummy.”
“I didn’t forget the recipe,” I mutter.
She straightens. Her hands come to rest on my shoulders, and before I fully realize why, she starts kneading the muscles there. “Why are you so surly today?”