Aunt Bess wouldn’t let it. Once he found out that Janie was gone and he was next in line for over a hundred grand, he wouldn’t let it, either.
Where did that leave me?
With my hand around my cousin’s throat while the girl I loved watched me fall apart.
I stand in front of the bathroom sink, turn the water on and wash my hands. The cold water falling over my hands brings me back to life. Splashing it against my face feels even better, but when I look in the mirror the guilt and dread hits me all over again. Shame becomes a second skin as I think about the way I taunted Violet with cruel, vulgar words she didn’t deserve.
I have no choice but to go out there and face my mistakes. That is, if Violet and Sebastian are still around. Who the fuck knows if they are. If I were them, I would’ve left last night without a lick of guilt. I don’t know why they continue showingup for me. All I’ve done is continuously treat them like they’re worthless and put them through a hell neither of them earned.
After I shut off the water, I take a quick piss, then wash my hands again before I open the bathroom door and listen for my cousin and my girl. How fucked up is it that I still consider her mine? That I can’t stand the image of her being with anyone else yet said what I did about her?
Sebastian’s words hit me all over again.
You want me to take the only girl you’ve ever had feelings for and fuck her so good that she forgets about you? You want some other guy to fill the void for her because your dumb ass can’t get his shit together?
I want none of that, which is precisely why I reacted the way I did. I’m ashamed that I’ve fallen so far off course. That I don’t consider myself good enough for her or worthy of her helping me through this season of my life.
The hallway is quiet, so I trudge into the kitchen with light footsteps. It’s empty, along with the living room, but fuck, the place is a mess. A different kind than Mom used to leave. Broken furniture is scattered throughout the space. Dents are formed into the drywall where there isn’t wallpaper. There’s broken glass in the sink. I faintly remember tossing a glass of water into it before I cracked the top off my whiskey.
I drink a fresh glass from the faucet and decide it’s best to check the rest of the house before the sun rises any more than it already has. The sunshine is slowly starting to slant its way in through the windows, but it won’t be long until the day is in procession, and it’s Groundhog Day all over again.
My bedroom is the first place I check. I’m relieved to find it empty and untouched. Apparently, I gave my belongings a pass last night when I was pulling a Tasmanian Devil. Mom’s room is next, and I’m hesitant to get to it. Mostly because it’s where I’ve been spending most of my time.
Life was far from perfect with her, but when I sit and think hard enough, I find crumbs of memories I want to hold onto. Times she made me laugh or fleeting moments when it felt like, for a minute or two, we were normal. When her issues with dependence weren't cackling in our faces and our lifestyle wasn’t miles away from the closest version of perfection.
I stop short when I walk through the threshold and see a brunette curled under Mom’s comforter. Wearing sweatpants and an oversized sweatshirt, she looks entirely too comfortable. My heart seizes in my chest, and I’m not sure if it’s because she’s so beautiful or if it’s because she’s still in this house.
I’ve told her before that she doesn’t belong here, and I still believe it, but she just looks so…peaceful. The glow of the sun coming in through the window hovers above her, creating a halo above her body. I want to hold on to her forever, but she’s angelic in every way that I am not. I don’t forget that as I quietly make it across the room and sit next to her.
Resting my hand on her arm, I squeeze it gently, hoping it’ll be enough to stir her from her sleep. It is, and she rubs the sleep away from her eyes.
I said shit last night, and when I did, I didn’t give her the time of day. I acted like she wasn’t there. The foulest words blew past my lips, and now I have to sit here and tell her how much I didn’t mean them while hoping and praying she grants me a level of forgiveness I can’t justify.
I need her to know that the alcohol morphed my reality. It put a twisted spin on my thoughts and made everything seem uglier and harsher. It turned my heart black.
“Hey,” I croak quietly. She pulls her arm closer to her body, effectively making my hand fall from it. She doesn’t want to be touched by me? Cool. It’s like the grenade I threw last night boomerangs back and explodes from within, my heart and blood coating the walls of the room with black sludge.
“Hi.” She says it in a hushed tone. I get the biggest urge to wrap my arms around her and pull her to me. To rest my head on her shoulder and let it all out. To voice how close I am to losing myself altogether.
“You didn’t leave,” I murmur, my throat dry as hell.
She shakes her head and sits up. It only creates more space between us. I only have myself to blame for it. I’m the one who caused this. Who gave her the stick she’s pressing into my chest in warning.
“Sebastian had to head back, but I didn’t want to leave you on your own.”
She looks at me with careful precision. Like she’s trying to get in my head and figure me out. “Are you okay? I understand if you don’t want to talk about it, but Sebastian told me…”
Told you what?I want to ask, but I already know.
I drop my chin and suck my cheeks into my mouth and try to think of what to say, but for once, I don’t want to bullshit. I don’t want to brush off the nagging sense of unease that I wake up with and go to bed with every night.
“I’m the farthest from okay I’ve ever been,” I admit in a low voice.
Her lips morph into a frown. Her eyes do the same. It reminds me of that saying to smile with your eyes, only hers are downturned and lacking the brightness they held before Uncle Thad ruined it the night of the fundraiser.
“I can tell,” she murmurs.
Every cell in my body begs her to touch me. To curl her fingers into my hand, to brush the back of my neck with her nails, to pull me in and never let me go.
