I wanted to snatch the cup from her hand and hurl it into the yard, but she looked so fragile, like a breeze could break her. So I swallowed the fury clawing up my throat and forced the words out steadily.
“Should you be drinking?”
She laughed through a wet sniffle. It was a hollow sound. “Probably not. But it sure feels good right now.”
Her hair fell over her shoulder as she lifted her head, and that one small motion—so human, so casual—hit like a gut punch.
“Ya know, during the whole time I lived with my parents, I always thanked God I had no sisters, even though I was so fucking lonely. I wanted one. But I always had friends, and my mom always wondered why I couldn’t keep any, and she always acted like I was the problem. But in reality it was because my dad molested them.”
Jesus fucking Christ. The words slammed into me like a freight train. My pulse roared in my ears.
“One of the girls, I got really close to and, when I got the balls to ask her if she stopped talking to me because of my dad, she said yes. So I apologized, and I thoughtthat after she would come back around, we could go back to being friends. Because when we hung out, I felt like a normal sixteen-year-old, and I could forget for a little bit. But nothing came of it. And I was back to being alone in a big fucking house.”
I couldn’t take it anymore. I reached over and took her hand, anchoring her to me. To now. My grip was firm but gentle—everything I had left to give. I wasn’t going to abandon her in the middle of this storm.
She looked at our hands, then at me. Her smile was barely there, trembling. “When I lost the baby, the first thought that came to mind was thank you God.”
She slid her hand from mine, and it felt like she was peeling away a part of me too.
“Sometimes I wish I was never born.”
I dropped to my knees in front of her, cupping her hands in both of mine, forcing her to see me, feel me. “Melanie, you are strong. Yeah, some bad shit happened to you, but you’re here. You’ve survived. One day at a time, that’s how you move forward. I know hell. You’ve lived it. But it can get better. I promise.”
“I’m tired of being strong. I just want to be…happy.”
I didn’t know what to say. That kind of truth—it didn’t need a reply. Just breath. Just presence.
So I asked softly, “Are you happy now?”
She stared at me, and I held my breath like her answer could split the world open.
“Even if I was, it won’t change anything.”
She stood and walked away. I followed. I had to.
“Why not?”
She spun around, fury crackling behind glassy eyes. “Because the only reason we’re even pretending this is real is because you’ve been fucking me like the whore I am.”
The words hit like shrapnel. Sharp. Explosive. I staggered back a step.
Was I making it worse? Was I part of her unraveling?
“I don’t think you are a whore. I just think you’re hurting.”
“Fuck you,” she snapped. “Don’t talk to me like I’m the only fucked up person here. You’ve got a whole cabinet full of Ambien, Percocet, and Valium. So you haven’t told me everything either, pal.”
She slurred the last part, her words thick and heavy. She stumbled toward the sink—toward the goddamn vodka.
How did I miss this?
“Yeah, you’re right,” I admitted, my voice quiet but cracking.
She took a swing. I watched her swallow poison and felt helpless rage burn my throat.
“Oh yeah?” she said, wiping her mouth. She started toward me with purpose, and didn’t stop until she was close enough that I could smell the liquor on her breath. “So tell me, Commando,” she said, kneeling slowly. “Do you like me fucking your cock with my mouth too?”
My cock twitched, and I hated it. Hated that I still wanted her even like this. She was gorgeous and broken, and I wanted so much more than just her body.
