Johnny & I : The Island by Daria Paus (hardest books to read txt) 📕

warned. “You landed yourself in this shit, as usual, face it. Hiding here will only make you look more guilty.”

Johnny's body tensed. “Fuck off.”

“Fuck off?” Marc repeated. “You want me to leave you here?” He shook his head. “Do you have any idea how badly you just screwed yourself over by leaving the fucking state?” He shot the guys a look of exasperation, and their synchronized sigh made me think it wasn’t the first time they’d witnessed something similar.

The next time Marc opened this mouth, I cut him off.

“Stop!” I snapped. “Don’t yell at him. Can't you see he’s upset?” I knelt next to Johnny, laying a comforting hand on his back. Then I turned my face up, glaring at Marc. “Leave us alone.”

He glared down at me. “Stay out of this.”

“Please.”

Rick nodded. “It’s a good idea, man.”

Marc turned on his heels, muttering something I was glad I didn’t hear.

When they were gone, I scooted closer to Johnny, wrapping an arm around him.

“He’s such an asshole,” I whispered. “How can you stand him?”

Johnny untangled his arms and lifted his head enough to see me. “I don’t.”

I couldn't help but smile.

“Hey,” I reached to brush hair out of his face. “How are you doin?’”

His broken, “Fine,” didn't fool me.

He shook his head. “No,” he said. “I’m—" His voice broke, and he buried his face into his knees. “I’m not fine, Bree,” he admitted at last. “Really not fine at all.”

Tears clouded my vision. “I know,” I whispered. “I know baby.” I pulled him into my arms, whispering soothing nonsense as I stroked his hair.

“He’s right though.” I hated to admit it, but Marc had a point. “You can't hide from it forever.”

He let out a sound; a mix between a sob and a scoff. Then he straightened, and I let my arm drop. He looked at me, and I tried not to cry.

“I can’t go back,” he said. “I never wanted to. It’s—"

I took his hand, squeezing it.

“It will never be over.” He looked down at our hands. “I can’t live like this.”

“It will be fine.” I promised him something I had no way of knowing. If Nancy got her way, I didn't know what would happen to him. I didn’t know the law, but I had a feeling it wouldn’t be in his favor if the court decided to believe her story. And even if they didn’t, what would become of him after such scandal?

“She’s a lyin’ bitch,” I said. “Truth will come out. You'll be fine.”

He looked at me, silent and still, letting his dark eyes find comfort in my face. Then he  dropped his gaze. “I don’t know how to face it,” he whispered. “All I’ve ever done is run, taking the easy way out. I don’t know anything of—" He cut himself off, eyeing me with a look of pure desperation. “I have no fucking clue how to do this.”

“Just take one day at a time.” I wanted to say so much more. I wanted to go with him, to be there and help him. I wanted to tell him he wasn’t alone and that he never has to be again. Instead, I held his hand, letting my thumb caress his skin in an endless motion.

“I wish—" he cut himself off, shaking his head.

“What?”

“You—" He looked away. “You make me feel . . . good. Better, at least.”

My heart swelled so much I thought it would burst. The words touched me deeply and filled me with a warmth that, for a few seconds, overpowered the sadness.

He looked back up at me. “Would you—”

I waited for him to go on as I tried to still my racing heart. Was it possible he was trying to ask me to keep in touch? To go with him?

When he didn’t go on, I whispered softly. “What?”

The look on his face hardened. “Forget it.” He shook his head, muttering under his breath. “I could never do that to you.”

You can, I wanted to say. You should. Whatever it was he wanted to do to me, I was more than willing.

“Please,” I whispered.

“No. Go home. Forget about me.”

“So, we’re back to this?” My voice came out way harsher than intended. “Your 'I ain’t good for you' bullshit?”

He looked down at my hand wrapped around his.

I snatched it away, and the look that came over his face made the tears I'd struggled to hold back burst from my eyes. Why did he have to look so miserable?

“Fine!” I snapped. “Do it alone!” I got to my feet and headed for the door. His broken voice made me stop. Still facing the door, I waited for him to say something—anything to make staying worth it.

“I don’t trust myself.”

I spun on my heels, staring at him. Once again, his sudden honesty silenced me.

“I can’t escape it, Bree. Don’t you fucking get it? One day I’ll lose it—like him.”

I took the few steps separating us, and fell to my knees in front of him.

“It’s not true.” I grabbed his chin, forcing him to look at me. “How can you say such a thing?”

"It’s true. You don't know what I'm capable of."

"I’m not afraid of you."

"You should be."

For a brief second, I couldn't help but wonder what he was talking about. Could he be right? Should I be scared? What had he actually done to become the person he was today? I didn't know anything about his life. I just knew what the media told me. It was a fraction; a few tiny pieces of the puzzle.

I let it go. In a few hours, it wouldn't matter anyway. He could be a serial killer for all I knew, but it didn't change the fact that I loved him—and was about to lose him.

"Johnny," I whispered.

He shook his head. “Just leave it.”

He sounded so tired that I felt bad for pushing him. I’d forgotten the fever. Just because he was indulging in stupid arguments, didn't change the fact that he'd been sleeping slumped against me not too long ago.