She nibbles on her bottom lip while glancing out the windshield. "Floor to ceiling bookshelves?"
"Sure."
"With a sliding ladder like in the movies?"
"Whatever you want."
A very girly squeal almost bursts my eardrums, but she makes it better with a big kiss on my cheek. "Then maybe you'll get to see my lingerie collection after all." She's out of the car in a flash. I know she's just messing with me, testing me, seeing how far she can push. Violet will be modest about her purchases, I know for a fact.
It's up to me to remind her Iwantto do this for her. And maybe a teeny bit want to do it for the sexy fashion show.
Thirty-Seven
VIOLET
Some days moving on is easy. Others, I feel stuck. It happens randomly—the reminder that these men I'm letting back into my heart have done damage to it.
On those days, I so desperately want them to come find me and help me wade through my emotions. At the same time, though, I don't want to see them at all because it hurts more.
What's worse is when the hurt comes on days we have plans. The furniture I chose for my mini library at their house is being delivered today. I was excited. Now I don't want anything to do with it.
My phone dings on my nightstand, probably a sweet good morning message from one of the guys. I can't bring myself to grab it.
Tears silently track over my nose and drip to the pillow beneath me. Curled on my side in the fetal position, I try to rationalize my feelings. I'm just finishing my period so I'm probably just hormonal.
I'm upset that two people I love could even think about hurting me the way they planned. I'm angry that they would use another person I love as part of their scheme. But I'm even more pissed off that five minutes of a toxic thought has ruined ourforward trajectory. That it's keeping me in bed and making me cry.Again.
They didn't even follow through on their revenge plan. But they kept it a secret and secrets hurt people. I would know.
So why do I get to be on my high horse about this when I did something worse to them? I ghosted them for seven fucking years. They wanted to break my heart for five minutes.
I'm not being fair, yet I continue to cry into my pillow and wonder why they aren't here coddling me. Annoyance at my neediness comes fast on the heels of my sadness.
Cassidy's moving around in the kitchen and I can faintly smell the sizzling bacon, but I have no desire to get up. Not even for bacon.
I knew I was battling depression while I was at my mom’s, but I thought I got over it. This is just another lesson I'm learning. Trauma, depression, hurt, memories; they don't go away. I should already know that considering there are times I can hardly look Mama in the eye.
Squeezing my eyes shut, I try to drown out the next message that lights up my phone. When a knock sounds on my bedroom door, I turn away and give it my back.
Cassidy, of course, lets herself in. "Wakey wakey," she whispers. At least the cheer in her voice is at a minimum.
I don't say a word or even groan. Honestly, I'm afraid if I use my voice, a sob will just come out.
The bed dips, jostling a few more tears from my eyes. "I made bacon." I don't respond, really just wanting her to go away. But not at the same time. "Do you need your heating pad?"
Now she sounds a little scared, and it's enough to have me glancing over my shoulder at her. "No. Thank you." My voice is so quiet and weak I'm surprised she can even hear me.
My phone dings and vibrates again, drawing Cassidy's gaze. I know what she sees. A lineup of unread notifications. "Mimosa?" she asks, sounding a bit more optimistic.
I open my mouth to say no I don't want anything, but that actually sounds freaking perfect for my sad Sunday morning. Instead, I wiggle out of my cocoon a bit and nod.
"On it!"
Cass jumps up and runs from the room.Gosh, I love her. She's back with two glasses so fast I don't have a moment to change my mind. With her laptop tucked under her arm, she drops it onto my bed, hands me my cup, puts hers on the side table, and rushes out again.
The fizz of the champagne makes me moan and snuggle against my headboard. Cassidy skips through the doorway with a plate of bacon and a big smile. Her demeanor and coddling make me feel better already.
"True crime documentary?" she asks before taking a sip of her mimosa. With her laptop open, she pulls up our streaming app.
