Yep. Making it worse. I chance the chill to bring a knuckle between my teeth, gnawing it so I don’t blurt out all the things I want from her out in a single sentence.
“Yeah?” I ask instead.
“Yeah,” she whispers back.
I find my hand drifting, fighting urges stirred by her timid inhales and the rustling beneath the sheets,myold sheets.
I bite my lip, imagining her.
“Welp, I can barely keep my eyes open anymore …” Lily’s words make me wrench my hand away, throwing it across the bed, far away from the throbbing I can’t control.
I squeeze my eyes shut, picturing the pine trees, mangled animal carcasses, and every other disgusting thing I’ve witnessed during my time as a ranger. Anything to scrub the scene I was shaping in my mind. I’m scum of the earth right now. Even though she doesn’t know the darkest desires of my thoughts, it feels as though I’m betraying the friendship we’ve worked to establish.
“Yeah, me, too. Big day tomorrow.”
She snorts, then ushers in a yawn. “Good night, Noah. I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Good night, Lil.”
She hangs up, and I berate myself for using the nickname she asked me not to. It’s natural to use it, and the familiarity with which I want to experience her, to know her … Lil feels right. There’s a trickle of hope in the fact she didn’t call me out. Maybe she’s too tired, perhaps half asleep and not truly paying attention to me.
It’s ridiculous, my body clutching these little moments and hidden signs like they’re proof of something more.
I groan, rolling over, and ignore the need coursing through me.
Max snores from his gigantic kennel at the end of the bed. I keep the door open so he can come and go as he pleases, but it’s still the place he prefers to sleep.
As I drift off, there’s another ding on my phone, and I glance at the 10:28 p.m. time before checking the message banner.
Morgan
Hey You up?
I push the phone off my bed, hearing it clank on the floor, and shove my head under my pillow.
Chapter 19
Lily
Icouldn’t sleep last night. I tossed and turned replaying mine and Noah’s conversation over and over. We’d spoken for hours. I drudged up stories from my childhood I’d forgotten, and he gave me insight into his younger years as well—though, I didn’t have the heart to tell him his mother has practically given me the film reel into it.
Lil.
When he said that after his goodnight, I braced for the nausea, for the sickening dread that nickname gurgles to the surface, but it didn’t come.
Two years ago, I had a co-worker who had a crush on me. He worked behind the bar at Applebee’s, and he thought he was being cute using it. I told him I didn’t like it, but he must’ve thought I didn’t really mean it, that I was being modest or something because he kept using it. One day, it triggered me, and I spent my entire shift vomiting in the bathroom. All because of a nickname that reminded me of the worst mistake and pain of my life.
Maybe it means I’m further into my healing than I was two years ago, or maybe it’s Noah using it. The grotesque wobbling that weakens my knees isn’t there when he says it.
I stare at myself in the bathroom mirror, and nervously I twist my nose ring. I overdid it, didn’t I? I trail my gaze down the olive-green midi dress with a black lace-trimmed deep V-neck. I grabbed it at the local thrift shop after my shift the other day. It cinches in at the waist and a black silk-like bow decoratively ties in the back. It flares enough to accentuate my waist, and I twirl with a smile on my face until I catch another glimpse of myself.
Damn it.How pathetic am I?I smack my forehead with my palm.
There’s no one to impress, so why am I going out of my way to wear the only dress I’ve owned in nearly four years? At least the material is lightweight and not constricting—helping cook won’t be an issue, and I’m secretly hoping I spill something on the dress forcing me to change.
I never understood my mother’s desire to dress up for my father after over thirty-two years of marriage. He’d been there in the thick of childbirth or when she was covered in potting soil and sweat after working in her gardens all day. However, as I dab on some blush and work mascara into my lashes, brightening my already loud eyes, I slowly come to terms with why.
Before my shower last night, I touched up my burgundy highlights and tied socks in my hair to form the wavy curls that volumize and bounce. Talk about messed up. Also, whoever said sleeping on anything to get heatless curls was painless, lied.
