I remember the times I’ve told him to be selfish with me, each instance that I was willing and open to giving myself to him without a second thought, and while I’d never take them back or regret them, it can’t be how we operate moving forward.
If we keep approaching our relationship this way, we’ll never make it. We’ll be shells of two people, an outline of a relationship that’s bound to destroy us both.
I push him back and move my palm out from under his sweater. He must get the hint because his drops, too. He doesn’t let go of my waist. He holds me to him like he’s not ready for me to leave quite yet.
“I can’t. I’m here as your friend,” I reply in a whisper. “Everything else has to stop.”
His chin dips. It’s enough for me to know that he doesn’t need more of an explanation.
We’re better than throwing our bodies at one another, especially in a manner as indecent as this—in the presence of his mom’s casket. If we’re ever going to get through this, we need to be smart about it. We need to stop maiming one another and giving ourselves up just to walk away even more depleted.
We need to heal.
Colsonneeds to heal.
FOURTEEN
COLSON
Jittery isn’tthe word to describe how I feel as Aunt Bess, Uncle Thad, and I walk into the law offices of Langlon, Tucker, and Rosenburg.
I didn’t expect Violet to show up at the cemetery. Something tells me Sebastian had something to do with it. I don’t know if I should be happy about him interfering or punch him in the throat for even considering it’d be a good idea.
He has to know that I’ve pushed her away along with everyone else, though I’d be downright lying if I said I didn’t feel the smallest amount of relief when my girl quietly sat down in the seat next to me. Sure, my head was elsewhere, filing through the memories I’ve had with Mom throughout the years and the sad fucking truth that she was minutes away from being buried six feet under, but the bombardment of it felt a little bit lighter with her there.
I loathe knowing she has that kind of ability over me.
That it’s so easy for her to sidetrack me and pull me from the shit that’s going on in my head. When I pulled her hand in mine, I knew I wouldn’t be able to let her walk away without talking to her. Without hearing her voice wrapping around me and scaringaway the negative energy I always seem to find myself blanketed in.
Iphysicallyache for her. Miss her so damn badly that I want to compare it to withdrawal—even if I don’t know exactly what it's like. Was this how it was for Mom? Having one true love and always chasing it but never being good enough to catch it half the time?
Violet broke off a tiny piece of herself and let me have it. She was the corner piece of a chocolate bar, and I greedily ate it up, licking my fingers clean of the smudges that melted against my heated skin just to immediately want more.
But today, she rejected me.
I can’t get it out of my head that she told me no. I’d never pull the same kind of shit Nelson did the night in Lucy’s and take a woman’s innocence and choice from her, so when she pulled away, I let her go.
I’d be lying if I said I was okay with her throwing my words back at me. Fucking friendship? That’s what she’s offering me after repeatedly hurting her?
I wantnothingandeverythingto do with it.
I want my fingers flying over my phone’s keyboard, texting her about the kind of day I’ve had. About the thoughts that constantly stream through my head on a never ending current. About how desperately I want tohatemy mom for the years of neglect but also love her like hell all the same. How I still wish I could’ve gone back and helped her in ways that mattered. Ways that didn’t involve paying off her drug debts.
I want Violet in my bed at night, her lithe waist pulled back and pressed into me. I want her mind and heart andsoulshackled to me forever.
A pang of guilt pelts me like hail. I nearly keel over as we step into the elevator. I clear my throat, and Aunt Bess glances over.I don’t make eye contact. I stay in my own lane, keeping my eyes forward until the doors spring back open and we exit.
Aunt Bess checks in with the receptionist before we’re taken back to a private room. In the middle of it is a long conference table where I’m sure all kinds of meetings are held. How many times have people had to sit here and listen to every detail of a loved one’s will? Just thinking about the amount makes my stomach twist with sickness.
“This should be quick,” Aunt Bess states. She’s holding a stained envelope in her hand. The one I gave her when I showed up at the cemetery this morning. Turns out it wasn’t too hard to find my birth certificate. I just had to sort through half the shit in Mom’s closet. I slipped my social security card in it for her, too.
I stand by the wall near the table. I sat long enough at Willow Creek Cemetery, and my legs are too restless to sit.
“We’ll get this over with then be on our way,” promises Aunt Bess.
I don’t know why she chose to do this after burying Mom, but I guess time is of the essence. If we wait too long, thousands of dollars will be handed over to the bank. Once that happens, there’s no way in hell they’ll entertain the idea of giving it back.
Stingy motherfuckers.
