After (The After Series)

all concerned about my health? He is going to make me crazy, literally crazy, as
in locked in a padded room.
“Where are the Band-Aids?” he practically demands of Landon, and Landon
tells him they’re in the bathroom. Within a minute Hardin is back and he grabs
my hand again. First he squeezes some antibacterial gel onto my cut, then he
wraps a Band-Aid around my finger gently. I stay quiet, as confused by Hardin’s
actions as Landon looks.
“Can I talk to you, please?” he asks again, and thought I know I shouldn’t,
since when do I do what I should when Hardin is involved?
I nod, and he wraps his fingers around my wrist and leads me outside.

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chapter thirty
B
ack at the patio table, Hardin lets go of my wrist and pulls out the chair for me.
Feeling like my skin is literally burning from his touch, I rub my fingers over it
as he grabs the other chair and drags it across the concrete to sit directly in front
of me. When he sits, he’s so close that his knees are almost touching mine.
“What could you possibly want to talk about, Hardin?” I ask him in the
harshest tone I can muster.
He takes a deep breath and pulls his beanie off again and places it on the table.
I watch as his long fingers run through his thick hair and he looks into my eyes.
“I am sorry,” he says with an intensity that makes me look away and focus on
the large tree in the backyard. He leans in close. “Did you hear me?” he asks.
“Yeah, I heard you,” I snap and stare back at him. He is crazier than I thought
if he thinks he can just say sorry and I will forget the horrible things he continues
to do to me on an almost daily basis.
“You’re so damned difficult to deal with,” he says and sits back on his chair.
The bottle I tossed into the yard is now in his hand, and he takes another drink
from it. How is he not passed out yet?
“I am difficult? You have to be kidding me! What do you expect me to do,
Hardin? You are cruel to me—so cruel,” I say and pull my bottom lip between
my teeth. I will not cry in front of him again. Noah has never made me cry; we
have been in a few fights over the years, but I have never been upset enough to
cry.
His voice is low and almost feels like it’s part of the night air “I don’t mean to

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be.”
“Yes, you do, and you know it. You do it purposefully. I have never been
treated this poorly by anyone in my entire life.” I bite my lip harder. I can feel
the knot in my throat. If I cry, he wins. That’s what he wants.
“Then why do you keep coming around? Why not just give up?”
“If I . . . I don’t know. But I can assure you that after tonight I am not going to.
I am going to drop Literature and just take it next semester.” I hadn’t planned on
doing that until now, but it is exactly what I should do.
“Don’t, please don’t do that.”
“Why would you care? You don’t want to be forced to be around someone as
pathetic as me, right?” My blood is boiling. If I knew what to say to hurt him as
bad as he always hurts me, I would.
“I didn’t mean that . . . I’m the pathetic one.”
I look straight at him. “Well, I won’t argue with that.”
He takes another drink, and when I reach for the bottle, he pulls it away.
“So you’re the only one who can get drunk?” I ask, and a wry smile appears
on his face. The patio light shines off his eyebrow ring as he hands me the bottle.
“I thought you were going to toss it again.”
I should, but instead I put the bottle to my lips. The liquor is warm and tastes
like burnt licorice dipped in rubbing alcohol. I gag and Hardin chuckles.
“How often do you drink? You implied before it was never,” I say. I need to
get back to being angry with him after he answers.
“Before tonight it has been about six months.” His eyes fall to the floor like he
is ashamed.
“Well, you shouldn’t drink at all. It makes you an even worse person than
usual.”
Still staring at the ground, his face is serious. “You think I am a bad person?”
What, is he that drunk that he would ever consider himself good?
“Yes.”
“I’m not. Well, maybe I am. I want you to . . .” he starts, but then stops,
straightens up, and leans back on the chair.
“You want me to what?” I have to know what he was going to say. I hand him
back the bottle, but he sets it on the table. I don’t want to drink; the one was bad
enough, given the terrible judgment I have around Hardin as it is.
“Nothing,” he says, lying.