“I wish you could see yourself how everyone else sees you. You would never doubt yourself again.”
“So, I’d be imperfect since everyone thinks that,” she points out, not moving back an inch.
“No,” I say harshly, bringing her face closer to mine. “You are astounding, and the people who say otherwise are trolls. There are people who want to be exactly like you, but they’re stuck in a constant fight in their minds, thinking that they aren’t good enough. You’re beautiful inside and out, and I kind of hate you for that.”
As she blinks, a tear drops onto her pink cheek.
I know I shouldn’t, but I tilt closer to her and brush my lips over her tear. I feel her body shiver as our mouths both slightly part at the close proximity.
The thing I hate the most is seeing Stella cry, but now, I’m adding Amelia to that list. I only want to see my girls smiling, not frowning, and I will destroy anyone who makes them do the latter.
“I hate that you’re being nice to me. It makes it harder to hate you,” she says in a broken whisper.
“Welcome to my life, honey. Every day, you’re making it harder for me not to kiss the shit out of you.”
She smiles. “There’s no shit in me. I’m a lady.”
I snort, pulling away from her and dropping my hand. “That’s the biggest lie of the century.”
I can’t believe we’re talking about … poop.
“I’m a girl. We don’t talk about these things.” Tilting her head, she examines me. “But since you know a secret about me, isn’t it only fair I get to know one about you?”
I go rigid at just the thought of having to share my past. But I would be even more of a dickhead if I didn’t tell her something after she admitted her eating disorder to me.
Clearing my throat, I stare straight ahead, making sure Stella doesn’t walk into the room and hear what I’m about to say. “I had a really rough childhood. My mom isn’t the best mom in the world. She’s addicted to drugs, and the only way we bonded was drinking … but that caused me to become an alcoholic.”
Her eyes widen at my sudden confession. I’ve only ever shared my drinking problem with my bandmates, so I find it oddly relieving to share it with someone else.
And what’s even weirder is, I trust that she won’t say anything to anyone.
After a few moments of silence, she says, “I’m sorry if this sounds insensitive.” She fidgets with her fingers nervously. “But you don’t look drunk right now.”
Her innocence makes me smile.
“I’m not drunk right now. I haven’t had a drink in months. But I’m still considered an alcoholic, just a recovering one.”
“Thank you for trusting me enough to tell me.” Her voice breaks, making me swallow tightly at the sudden emotion that’s thick in the air.
“Of course. You told me about your eating disorder.”
She whispers, “Are you in pain?”
I practically flinch when her voice breaks.
Nodding, I swallow tightly. “Always.”
I’m always aware of the temptations around me, but I fight my cravings, even when it seems unbearable. Because when I know I don’t give in, I feel a high that drinking has never made me feel. I believe in myself—something I haven’t felt in a while.
But I don’t know why that question gets to me. I haven’t gotten emotional in years.
When did I last cry?
But when I find Amelia looking at me like she wants to hug me, I blink. Screaming at my sudden tears not to betray me.
“I’m so sorry.”
Her hand covers my own. I take in the sight of her small hand covering my rough-looking, tatted one.
