“Last night was…” My words trail off as I try to find the word I want to use.
“A lot?”
“No.”
“Oh.”
“I don’t have a word to describe it, but I remember saying and doing things that should’ve never happened. I don’t know why I put my hands on Sebastian other than knowing I needed to feel something different than I was.”
“Is your jaw okay?”
I nod, realizing that there’s a stiffness to it as I talk. The image of Sebastian hitting me comes back in full force. “Nothing I can’t handle.”
“I feel like you’ve said that before.”
“Because it’s true.”
“Is it?” she asks. “How can you say it’s nothing you can’t handle when you’re destroying things, Colson?” Her voice turns pleading. “I thought you were going to choke him out. There was a second there when I wasafraidfor his well-being. And the things you said…”
“Were fucked up. I know.”
Her features grow solemn, her frown growing more pronounced. The emotion in her eyes drowns out the golden hues. And her eyebrows cave to the weight, her forehead wrinkling in effort to hold them up.
I squeeze my eyes shut and run my hand through my hair. I’m still in the jeans I wore yesterday. My sweater got discarded when I returned home after the lawyer fiasco. The plain white T-shirt I wore underneath stretches over my back as I lean my elbows on my knees and hide my face in my hands.
A moment passes before I sit up and give it to her straight. “I shouldn’t have said any of that stuff. I wasn’t speaking from a place of honesty. I said it to hurt you.” I swallow, hating how it feels to admit that. Honesty is a bitch. So is accountability. “I said it so you’d leave, because it pissed me off that Sebastian invited you over when, clearly, things were not great.”
“I’m glad he did.”
I scoff. “How can you say that? I don’t understand why you continue to show up. I don’t deserve it, Violet. Look at me. My life is one wrecking ball away from being reduced to rubble. You want to get buried beneath it all? Because I sure as hell don’t want you to be.”
“Maybe things would have ended a lot worse if I didn’t come.”
“They did end badly.”
“And why wouldn’t I be here for you?” she asks, steering backward in conversation. “Remember when I was having a hard time with my dad? You listened to me countless times, gave me advice, and got me out of my head when it mattered most. It’s only fair that I offer the same back.”
“So, you’re not mad at me for telling Sebastian to fuck you? That you’re damn good at sucking dick and that you swallow?” My voice hardens, and I arch a brow at her. I almost wish she’d stand up for herself. That she’d look me in the eye and tell me what a jerk I am. “Because if I were you, I’d sure as shit be pissed.”
She pulls at the hem of her shirt. “It was hurtful,” she says. “I won’t lie and say it wasn’t.”
I wind my hand up underneath the comforter, find her foot, and grip it. It doesn’t matter if I like feet or not. At this moment, I’d fucking lick them to make sure she knows how sorry I am for acting like the biggest asshole in America.
Her eyes lift to mine the same time I squeeze my hand around her arch. My apology pours out of every crevice in my body. “I’m so fucking sorry, Violet.” It’s like my heart is under an ice pick, and my stupid actions come along and chisel it clean open. “You never deserved that. You haven’t deserved anything I’ve done lately.”
“I feel like…I don’t know what to say to you anymore,” she voices shamefully.
That makes two of us, baby.
I’ve been on autopilot. The logical side of my brain has barely been powering through. Everything I’m doing, it’s not because I’m talking myself into it. It’s because I’m not talking to myself at all. The fucks I originally gave have vanished, and my emotions are running the show.
“We used to be able to come to each other for whatever. Or well, at least I did.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I question.
She purses her lips. I keep my hand on her foot because I need to feel connected to her in some capacity. Even if it’s through the most disgusting body part ever created.
“I think you’ve been open with me when it comes to some things. More open than you are with other people but…” She pauses, and my heart sputters. “Then there's other stuff that I know you haven’t been very transparent about. I keep telling myself that it’s okay, but I don’t think it is anymore. This is new for me, too. I’ve never had a boyfriend who has lost a parent, much less to addiction, and it’s clear how that’s affecting you. But communicating about it has suddenly been bumped higher on my list of importance. Outside of your emotional rollercoaster rampages, I feel…in the dark. And I don’t know how to help you fully, even as a friend, when I’m so far out of the loop.”
