He tells me he loves menow, but how the hell do I believe those words?
Over the past few days, I’ve grabbed my phone again and again, desperate to spill these tangled emotions out of me.
Why should I be the only one burdened with them when he’s the reason they’re colliding inside me?
Each time my finger lingers over his name, I freeze, uncertain if I’m ready to crack the door open any wider between us.
For three years, I wanted him to be as in with me as I was with him. Instead, every time I turned around, he was always fighting it, choosing to put another woman between us as a buffer.
The moment I finally choose myself, he floods me with the feelings I’d begged for all along. Now, I’m the one slamming on the brakes.
The rush of this ride just isn’t worth the cost of admission.
Not until I’m brave enough to climb aboard without a seat belt, and right now, nothing promises I’d survive the ride.
My eyes fall to the flowers, and his answers to my questions creep back into my head.
Slowly, I reach out, fingertips brushing the petals for the first time since I set them in water. Their silkiness tugs a wistful smile onto my lips.
I jerk my hand back, scowling as soon as I realize what I’m doing.
My heart wants to soften, but I’m not ready to let it.
Not yet.
A single tear slips down my cheek as I pull the flowers from their vase.
So what if I breathe in their scent for a few moments? No one’s here to witness it but me.
I stomp the trash can lever and toss the flowers in, exhaling in relief only once the lid snaps shut over their colors.
Out of sight, out of mind.
For now, at least.
Prove It
Hayvin
“Whereareyouat,bitch? I brought the alcohol,” Everleigh’s voice yells from the living room.
“Back here,” I call out, closing my notebook.
I hug my guitar close for a moment. No one can see this one yet. More of my soul bleeds from these lyrics than I’m used to sharing, and the idea of exposing them makes my skin crawl and my chest tight. Maybe, just maybe, this song will stay buried in my private stash. Letting it loose into the world feels like standing naked in a storm.
Everleigh appears, holding vodka and gherkins. "Your voice screamed for alcohol, friend."
Laughing, I climb to my feet. “I’ll grab the shot glasses.”
Returning to the den, I find Everleigh barefoot and curled up in a chair, her jaw clenched tight. She’s stabbing at her phone, thumbs moving with a furious rhythm. I can practically hear the sting of her words through the glass.
There’s only one person who, I’m guessing, is on the other end.
She still hasn’t said much about what went down with Grimm. Whatever happened cracked her wide open, and I see the ache leak out with every breath she takes. She tries to mask it, but I’ve known her since we were kids. She can’t hide her pain or her fury from me.
“Everleigh,” I call softly as I walk over, lowering myself to my knees before her and making sure she sees me.
She stares straight through her phone, like she’s willing it to disappear. Her lips tremble and her chin shakes. Then a single tear slips down her cheek, silent and heavy.
