B.R.O.N.X (NOT MINE)

54. Risky business.

 Justin

Shit. I'd been hoping Brooklyn wouldn't notice the huge, horrible and Tyler-induced scratch on the side of my car. I'd already given him hell about it-which had earned me the cut on my lip, but had, much to my delight, left his nose broken. Again. I think that made two or three times I'd had the pleasure of hearing his bone crack.

"Some dipshit dented it over night. I haven't had time to take it to the garage shop," I lied as I walked to the passenger side to open the door for Brooklyn.

"One more question," she said, putting up her index finger in a gesture that reminded me of her mom. "Am I supposed to believe that so this whole having fun charade doesn't flop?"

Well, wasn't she becoming an expert with sarcasm. I gave her an impatient look that did nothing to move her.

"There was a time when you used to trust me," I noted, gently pushing her inside the car. To my surprise, she started buckling herself.

"There was a time when you used to tell the truth," she replied curtly, closing the door in my face.

Did that mean she'd figured out the street racing part too? I mean, she was smart enough not to believe some random tool had scratched my car with his keys for fun. It wouldn't take her long to guess what had really happened-which had been Tyler rubbing the saw-like side of his car on mine. Seriously, who has spikes on their car? Isn't that, like, illegal?

I tried to take nice, calming breaths before I got behind the wheel. So much for hoping we could have a normal day among so much abnormality. Inside, I was beating myself for it because of course I knew it was all my fault. It was always my fault. We'd established that a long time ago. And I wasn't being sarcastic.

I started the car, doing my best to ignore Brooklyn's teary eyes. I don't know whether they were angry or sad tears. Or a bit of both. I couldn't seem to do anything right. I'd been hurting her and pushing her away only to want her back again for my own selfish reasons. I needed her so I convinced myself that it was okay to come back to her and pretend I wasn't living a double life. But what if I told her everything? About the races, the drug dealing, Anthony, would she still want me? I really doubted that. She'd been clear when she'd told me she wanted me out of that world for good.

I opened my mouth, my heart wanting to get everything out of my chest, but words didn't come out. My brain wouldn't allow it. I was way too scared to open up to Brooklyn. It sucked because I knew the reason I was going back to my old ways was to deal with the pain of my dad's death. Brooklyn knew that, too. What she would not understand was why I couldn't find any other method to cope with it. I wish I could, but I guess this was all I expected for myself.

The whole ride home was uncomfortably quiet. Brooklyn looked at the window without uttering a word. She didn't even react when I put on her favorite radio station. I was willing to listen to lame pop just for her. But even that didn't call her attention. Guilt was gnawing at my insides, leaving a raw, nauseous feeling behind. Was it possible for your own digestive juices to corrode the walls of your stomach? I hoped not. That sounded disgusting enough, I didn't need to feel it.

When I parked in front of my building, Brooke didn't unbuckle. I twisted on my seat to face her. Pretending everything was peachy had only gotten us this far. We were gonna have to talk sooner or later, and I might as well lift the weight off my shoulders already.

"Just come up. I promise we will talk. Really talk," I said as I tried to reach for her hand. She curled it under her thigh, which hurt like a blow to the stomach.

"I can't keep doing this, Justin," she whispered without moving her eyes front the windshield. "I love you, but this is killing me." Her gaze finally turned to me. Her brown irises were coated in tears that I bet she was trying her best not to spill.