“All of those times I would find you walking at night, the time I found you with a black eye, and the reason for your really low self-esteem is all because of them?"
I knew he was not trying to insult me, but his words still hit hard. I laughed bitterly. "Damn,reallylow self-esteem?"
"Sorry, sorry," Javi quickly muttered as he tightened his embrace around me. "Sorry, baby. You know I'm not trying to insult you. I'm just really struggling to not hate your entire family."
"I can't blame them for how they feel,” my eyes fluttered to the side as I spoke weakly. "You're mad at them for how they treat me, but not mad at me for how I treat others? I'm the same as them, the only difference being that I’m a dick to others while they’re dicks to me."
I waited for him to offer a rebuttal, but nothing came. I was right and Javier knew that he just didn’t want to admit it. I was man enough to admit that I was just as much of a prick as my siblings were.
"Look, this was all to tell you why Easton acts the way he acts. I wanted you to know because you mean a lot to me, and after everything you have done you deserve to understand. I want you to know who you're really investing all your time into."
He raised a brow. “Investing my time into?”
“I don’t want you to later realize I’m too much for you.”
“You will never be too much for me,” Javi said firmly. The heavy words lingered in the air between us. “I want to be there for everything, and that includes the bad. All the bad things in the world can come crashing down on you and I will be there to shield you from it, not run away.”
I sucked in a shaky breath. “You aren’t tired of all the stubbornness? The rude remarks and attitude from me?
“Defense is your coping mechanism, Eli. No, that doesn't make it right and yes, you still have some growing to do.”
I pulled back from his embrace. “If you think that then why are you acting like I’m not the same as them?”
“You don’t go out of your way to hurt people, you only respond when you feel threatened. You are doing so much better, Eli, you’retrying. When they start trying then maybe I can feel differently about them.”
I rested my head on his shoulder and exhaled. Sound was echoing through my ears like I was in a tunnel, and mymovements were taking longer than usual. Easton’s dumbass drugging me up was not what I wanted in life.
“I’ve gotten to see the side of you that has always been there but has been too afraid to come out." His hand cupped my cheek and held it to his shoulder as his eyes squinted at me. “Are you okay?”
I was at a loss for words. Not just because my throat was feeling dry, but because I was too stunned by his words to form a coherent sentence.
“I’m a little high. Easton had pot muffins that I accidentally ate,” I managed.
I heard a harsh sigh from him followed by a tight squeeze. He was choosing not to comment on me being stoned. Either that…. or I missed what he had said. At one point I was focused too on how distant my hand was from me to actively listen. Oops.
"I'm sorry about your parents, but you are not a murderer. You were an infant and couldn't control anything that happened around you. You were born for a reason, and while the circumstances surrounding it are brutal, it doesn’t make you any less worthy of being alive. I could not imagine a world without you, Elias Richardson.”
I couldn’t imagine a world without you, Javier Cortez.
I nodded in his chest as I listened to his heartbeat. I was keeping my mouth shut as I focused on keeping my emotions in check. Weed made Easton feel calm, but it was making me fight for my life to try and hold the tears back.
"Can I ask how your dad passed?" he asked in a hushed tone.
I felt a lump build up in my throat and I coughed. Talking about how my mother died was easy. It was not her fault she passed, she did not leave me on purpose. That was not the same case for my dad.
"Alcohol poisoning," I croaked.
I felt his body tense unexpectedly, but I refused to look at him. I didn't want to see the pity in his face. That, and the comparison he was no doubt making.
My father had an alcohol problem, and the death of his wife sent him over the edge. He chose his liquor and grief over his three infant children. My dad was the first person to not choose me.
Yet here I am going down the same path.
He didn't comment on it, thankfully. How could he? What could anyone say to such a tragedy?
He cleared his throat. "Have you ever thought about therapy?"
"Not really," I admitted. “Macy won’t pay for that.”
