Page 248 of Tell Me I'm Enough

And then all I see is nothing.

The room spins a little before I get my balance back, and I try to pull myself together.

I put on the best mask I have, and let the alcohol start telling me everything I want to hear.

You’re good now.

You feel better.

You can handle this now.

No one will even know.

It’ll be like it never even happened.

You could do this whenever you wanted, and no one would know.

I walk back out of the bathroom, grabbing my bag, checking the side pocket for the pack of gum I keep there.

Simone is sitting on my bed, scrolling on her phone, looking absolutely beautiful in her pink blazer and matching skirt.

She looks so put together.

Sheisso put together.

I’ll never understand why someone as perfect as her even looks in my fucked up direction. But I promise I’ll do everything in my power to keep her here.

I tried staying away, and it was torture.

I know I screwed up. I get it. But she doesn’t have to know. I’d rather her hold onto the small amount of good she still sees in me.

“Ready?”

Simone looks up from her phone, smiling. “Yeah. Are you?”

“No. But what choice do I have?”

She stands up, walking over to me, and kisses me on the cheek. “You’ve got this. You’re a better man than he’ll ever be. Remember that.”

I let her words sink in, but don’t say anything back. I just want to hold them without ruining them. I want them to be true.

“Let me walk you over to the Gamma house,” I tell her, kissing the top of her head.

Once I’m back at the Sig house, the parents have already started to arrive.

We’ve been cleaning this house for the past two weeks, preparing for this. All the guys are showing their parents around, introducing them to the guys, and making small talk with the other parents.

I’m pulled into several introductions and getting loosened up when I feel a hand on my shoulder.

“There he is.”

I stiffen but don’t pull away.

I hate how I instantly feel like a little boy in his presence. Like I’m back to being seven years old again and bracing for his storm each time he comes home.

“You’re here,” is all I say, moving out of his touch to face him.

The grin on his face is not only foreign but…unnerving.