I told myself I wasn’t going to bring it up. It hasn’t messed with our friendship, but I’m realizing that whatever we have is way more than just that, because if that was all it was, I wouldn’t be imagining branding her entire body with my mouth.
The slowness in the way her chest rises with each breath tells me she didn’t expect me to ask a question like that. It’d be nothing to reach out and skim my fingers along the skin just under her shirt like I did at that club. To let my hands fall to her ass and grip it the way I did during our yoga session.
She pushes up to her feet, my heavy stare clearly too much for her.
She’s not getting away that easily. I want to know the truth. I know for a fact that she doesn’t go around saving people by pressing those pretty lips to their mouths just torescuethem from situations they’re capable of remedying themselves.
She wouldn’t be single if she did.
I stand and grab her waist. “Answer me, Violet. Do you kiss all your friends who need saving?”
Her gaze slides to mine. “No.” Her throat bobs around a swallow. “That was a one-time thing.”
A beat passes where I want nothing more than to consume her. I don’t trust myself not to make a move. Not when she’s looking at me like her answer isn’t entirely the truth.
Then I remember where we are.
In this shithole I’ve always called home.
And I realize that while she might have been made for me…I wasn’t made for her.
THIRTY-THREE
VIOLET
Sleep isn’t finding me.
If Colson being on my mind isn’t what’s keeping me up, it’s the barking dog in the distance. Before that, it was the whistling wind sneaking through the cracks of the house. This mattress also isn’t the greatest. Lying on thumbtacks would be more comfortable.
Colson, though, seems to be fast asleep on the floor next to me. Lying on his stomach, his face turned in the opposite direction, his breaths are steady and peaceful. So unlike how he was an hour ago.
I can’t imagine what his childhood was like. Having an addict as a parent couldn’t have been easy. He may have grown up in an unfortunate environment, but the more I think about life and all it has to offer, the more I think we’re all the same. We all struggle and are simultaneously just trying to survive.
I shift and roll over, my stomach jumping out of my mouth when a door shuts from somewhere else in the house. It scares away thoughts of Colson enough to make me sit up on my elbows and listen closely as my heart drums beneath my ribs.
Colson doesn’t budge. Having grown up around the noise, I’m sure he’s slept through more than barking dogs and slamming doors.
Muffled noises follow next, and what is that? I pinpoint a female voice, but the other is deep enough to have me picking up my phone from next to me to check the time. At nearly midnight, isn’t it a bit late for company?
I whip the thin sheet covering my body down to the bottom of the mattress and tiptoe across the floor like an assassin in the night. Colson’s out, mouth slightly parted, when I pass him on my trek to the door.
He invited me to come home with him for one night, but rather than staying in that bed, I’m being nosy, my curiosity getting the best of me.
When we came inside, his mom wasn’t home. That quickly, she went out the back door. I haven’t met her. I don’t even know what she looks like.
I wince when the door creaks softly, but make it out to the hall, and creep to the edge of the wall. I wait and listen.
Whoever was talking quieted. The voices have faded into the stillness around the house. I don’t know who they are, yet I find myself questioning what they’re doing. What I can’t see.
I’m not sure what’s making me bold enough to put myself into someone else’s business. This is Colson’s life, and if I go out there, I’m not sure what I’ll find. What am I supposed to do if I bump into someone? Hell, if itishis mom, does she even know that her son is here? Would she recognize the car parked out front? Or would she think I’m a stranger who’s squatting in her home?
I weigh it out in my head. Would Colson be mad? Last thing I want is for his pent-up anger to be directed toward me. But he brought me here. If he didn’t want me to see what was going on around me, he should’ve blind-folded me, damn it.
I’m going out there because I want to know how I can help, how I can be there for him.
I leave behind the safety of Colson’s room on light feet. I’m a detective, sliding against the hallway wall, back and palms against it. My stomach knots, warning me.You’re not going to find anything good.Fuck heeding it.
At the end of the hall, the kitchen comes into view. Farther up, I see the edge of the sofa in the living room, though it doesn’t really look like an actual couch. I’ve seen these in dorm rooms back when I used to live in them. This one is black but has seen better days.
