“Then let it follow me,” I murmur. This moment is too important to choose anything but him. “As long as we have each other, what does it matter?”
His palm tickles up my arm, moving to the back of my neck where he threads his fingers through strands of hair. He doesn’t pull me closer, doesn’t press those lips against my own like I’d like him to.
Chills shoot down my back when he rests his mouth near my ear. His head leans into mine, and it’s the closest to intimacy we’re going to get. But that’s not what gets me. It’s the way his bottom lip brushes against the tip of my ear when he murmurs, “Tell me what I did to deserve you,” that really has me wanting to reach out and give him all of me.
THIRTY-TWO
COLSON
Unlike the lasttwo times here, the doorknob burns my hand when I twist it open. It doesn’t matter what the temperature is inside or out, it’s what we’re walking into that has my guards up. Violet is close behind. How the hell I managed to lock her down as a friend is beyond me. I gave her no solid reason to keep up with it. Hell, I was an ass to her in the beginning, but I’ll be damned if I’m ready to let her go.
I’m nervous as hell for her to see my life, how I grew up, and the person I struggle with to this day, my mom. The worst part being that I never really tried talking myself out of it. All this time, I’ve stayed in my lane and told myself that no one deserves to be brought into chaos like the kind that exists within these walls, but there’s something about her that makes me want to open up.
That and there’s this selfishness thundering inside me. It’s my hope that she’ll act as a shield, blocking out all the frustrations that might come up. The more I let myself think about it, the more I consider how fucked up it is, bringing her into a house where a mother doesn’t harbor a nurturing heart, but a greedy one.
I ignore the warning thoughts.
I hold the door open, observing how she steps to the side and waits. Violet’s hand sneaks into mine. She presses into my side and calmly declares, “You and me.”
Pulling her along, we walk through the living room to get a better look at the kitchen and dining area. When we were out in the car, we saw shadows inside. Someone is here, or was.
I give Violet’s hand a reassuring squeeze, but I think I do it more for myself.
“Maybe she went to bed?” Violet offers. “It is getting late.”
Just because the sun is setting doesn’t mean a thing. I’ve witnessed mom pull all-nighters. I’ve watched her stumble through the door, barely able to keep her eyes open while admitting that she just went on a thirty-hour bender.
Moving down the hall, I’m quiet on my feet as I approach her bedroom. I let go of Violet’s hand and gradually open the door, hopeful it doesn’t creak.
The light is on but no one is inside.
Where the hell could she have gone so quickly?
Then it clicks.
“She left out the back.”
“Does she normally use the back door to come and go?”
Not typically. It throws up another red flag. The only time she ever exits out the back…
I remember the time the neighbor’s house across the street was being watched by the feds and how paranoid it made mom. She didn’t use the front door for weeks. Not even after the neighbor guy was busted for cooking up meth in his basement and dealing it out of his basement window.
My mind reels, trying to figure out what her motivations are and what mess she might have gotten herself in now, but it’s hard when I haven’t been around consistently for weeks.
“I’ll grab your bag from the car, and we’ll settle in. Come on. I’ll show you to my room before I go out.”
It’s nothing crazy. The room I have at Sebastian’s is obviously nicer with a comfortable bed, nightstand, and dresser, yet Violet’s gaze darts around the room as she takes in every detail.
The paneling on the walls.
The old bookshelves where I have DVDs stacked.
My mattress that has been on the floor since forever.
My belongings that have mostly come from my own pockets. Before my job at the junkyard, I would clean the neighbor’s house in the summers and after school. I saved every penny and bought what made me happy at the time. A dated gaming system that distracted me from Mom’s bad moods. A collection of movies that I’d stay up and watch when she wouldn’t come home.
Violet runs a finger over a stack of them. “You never told me you’re a movie buff.”
