Rain by Michelle M. Watson

Part One
    Basking
in the safety of my meadow… 
     
     
    My
best friend Tate sits across from me as we have lunch at a small restaurant
near my apartment in downtown Seattle, Washington. The weather is always wet
and cold in December.
    His
green eyes are wide and assessing as they burn into me, and I know exactly what
he’s doing: mentally cataloging every visible scrap and bruise on my body.
    “You
are beautiful,” I murmur, glancing down and picking over my grilled chicken
salad.
    He
smiles, showing off his dimples.  They are adorable too.
    My
breath catches in my throat because it feels like I’ve been smacked in the face
then ran over by a tractor trailer which is boyish charm.
    Breathe
idiot, breathe.
    His
brows push together. “What?”
    “You
are beautiful,” I repeat, stuffing a forkful of lettuce in my mouth.
“Everything about you is beautiful.” His skin is a pale gold color and his hair
is wavy, thick, and dirty blond.
    “Mom’s
Swedish, dad’s black. Biracial beauty,” he jokes. “You’re not bad yourself.”
    “Mom’s
white, father’s Mexican. Biracial beauty,” I tease. I laugh alone as his
concerned eyes revert back to the bruise on the side of my neck. “You should
eat your cheeseburger before it gets cold.”
    He
blinks, then glances down at his plate. Tate switches
meals with me. “I never see you eat anymore,” he says with a disapproval
expression crossing his angelic face.
    “But
I can’t eat this,” I whisper, frowning at him with pleading eyes.
    His
brows lift, wanting an explanation. “And why not?”
    “Zack.” One word with a million different meanings.
    His
jaw clenches in anger as he comes to realization. “What the fuck? You’re
twenty-two and in perfect shape.”
    “He
has me on a diet,” I whisper, feeling embarrassed beyond belief. But I have
always told Tate everything.
    Always.
    I’ve
never lied to him.
    Not
once.
    “What
the fuck?”
    Pure bewilderment.
    “Yeah,”
I confirm, pushing the plate towards him.
    “So?”
    “So?”
I repeat, confused.
    “So?”
he repeats, his lips set in a grim thin line.
    “So…?”
    He
sighs, shaking his head. “Yeah, cupcake. So?” Tate
pushes the plate towards me. “You should eat, Rain. And stop listening to
everything Mr. Fucking Douchebag says. I’m not
fooling around.”
    I
purse my lips, crossing my arms over my chest. “Well, ‘Mr. Fucking Douchebag ’ is taking care of me. I’m unemployed right now,
Tate. And I have nowhere else to go. You know my family is back in L.A. And I’m
not returning home because I ‘failed’ in the real world. My mom and dad already
have enough stress in their lives. I don’t want to add to that. ” As if on cue, my phone rings.
    It’s
Zack, my boyfriend.
    Tate
snatches my phone from me and shoves it in the pocket of his jeans, smirking.
    Shit!
This is going to get me in trouble.
    “Give
me my phone!”
    “Listen,”
frustration washes over his face, hardening his features, “you know you can
stay with me. You’ve been involved with this fuck-up for an entire year, Rain.
We go to the same nursing school anyway; it’ll be fun to have you as a
roommate. You’ll give me the company I need .”
    “You
think so?” I ask, unsure. I don’t want to burden him.
    “Absolutely,”
he assures. “And plus,” his eyes shift back to the bruise on my neck and he
frowns, “I know he hits you, Rain. That shit is not cool.”
    My
hand flies to the dark spot on my neck. I shrug, staring out the plate-glass
window of the restaurant, watching the rain sheet down from the cloudy sky.
“He’s going to freak out on me. Can you help me pack?”
    It’s
an opportunity to leave and spread my wings a little and it’s with Tate .
But I love Zack. Love, love, love him. I’m completely addicted in a terrifying
way and I’m not sure I want treatment just yet. I don’t have the strength to
stay away from him. I am that weak.
    It’s
my best friend Tate. He’s worried about me when I