Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 71679 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 358(@200wpm)___ 287(@250wpm)___ 239(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71679 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 358(@200wpm)___ 287(@250wpm)___ 239(@300wpm)
“Are you okay?” she whispers so her parents won’t hear. Because this is private, not because she’s ashamed.
“I’m fine.”
Her hands start to drop, but I grasp her wrists, fixing them in place. She smiles at me so softly, dangerously—like she doesn’t mind the thrill of her mom or dad walking up and seeing us like this—and then arches up on her toes and kisses me. She laughs softly after, a little breathless.
“I smell like fish. I’m sorry.”
I kiss her palm, well aware that this isn’t putting distance between us at all. “I’m not.”
Her eyes flash, and the way she looks at me guts me. It guts me, and it also does something else to me. I can’t remember the last time I was ever turned this inside out because I can’t remember the last time I let someone in. Letting someone in is a weakness, but I didn’t get a choice with Darby. She was already there. She might have snuck underneath my skin over the past year before I even knew what was happening. She’s sneaky and wonderful, and she makes me want to believe good things are possible. I was having an argument with myself just a second ago, telling myself that she isn’t for me because she’s too good for me. I am bound to self destruct sooner or later, and she deserves so much more than to be saddled with someone who is broken and messed up and who will probably only have decent health for a few more years if that—and decent is already stretching it—because my life has been a blur of pain and shit, but looking into her eyes, I want to believe there’s more.
That I can be more.
“Are you sure you’re okay? You look funny.”
“That might be the sweetest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”
She swats my shoulder. “You know what I mean. Are you sure you’re good? You’re not trying to be brave, are you? Because if you need to sit down or lay down or you need something else, just tell me. Is this too much? What do you need?”
“I missed you.” The truth. Pulled out of me so effortlessly. “I’m terrified.” Fuck, I need to stop. I have never been so weak or strong in my life. I don’t know what’s happening or what you’re doing to me, and I should make it stop, but I don’t want to. Darby isn’t like an addiction. I don’t just want more and more and more of her. She’s like a part of me now, and when I tear her away—because it is a when, not an if—she’s going to be an injury that’s so much more than skin deep. Run. She has the potential to ruin you for yourself. She could. She could break down the walls and the way I’ve gone inside myself to hide from the pain. She could ruin me because I want her, and I know I shouldn’t. This is all getting so far, and I’m losing myself. No, not far enough. I’ll never be lost enough. Not when it comes to Darby.
Darby takes my hand, my bad hand. She turns it over and kisses the ugly ridges of my skin. I can’t really feel her lips there because I have no feeling in most of it, but she raises my hand to her heart and fuck me if I don’t feel that right in the center of where my chest just split right in half.
There’s a flash of pain and sympathy in her eyes but a sea of softness to cancel it out. “Terrified of what?” She holds my hand in place over her heating heart. I can feel the throb of it through her dress, fluttering in my fingertips. Her free hand comes up and caresses my temple before she smooths back my hair. “What’s going on? Is it work?”
“I should go put my hand on.”
“Is that what’s wrong? You look so sad. I thought maybe you were in pain, or you were just having a bad day or a hard time. My family is here. All of them have been here except my little sister because she’s working two jobs right now before school starts, and that’s…that has to be lonely.”
I’m good at putting on a brave face and a tough front. Usually. But I’m finding it a heck of a lot more difficult lately. I sniff Darby’s fingers since they’re lingering on my cheek. “Your hands do smell like fish. What kind are we having for dinner?”
She knows I’m changing the subject on purpose, but she lets it go. “Northern pike, actually. Same as last time. Although, I could make you something else. A grilled cheese, if you want.”
“Last time, the fish was delicious. What happened after had nothing to do with that.”
“But you’d tell me if it did. Or if you didn’t like it. You wouldn’t just sit there and force it down, would you?”