Total pages in book: 196
Estimated words: 188002 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 940(@200wpm)___ 752(@250wpm)___ 627(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 188002 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 940(@200wpm)___ 752(@250wpm)___ 627(@300wpm)
She wasn’t made for flings, my little ladybug. She was the kind of girl you took home, if you had one. She was the kind of girl you kept. She was forever. My forever.
“You’re awake early.” Her soft voice pulls me from my trip down memory lane.
“Yeah. I’m supposed to wake up every day at the same time. For consistency and stability.” The times of taking sleeping pills to force myself to sleep after taking speed to stay awake for days are over.
She kisses my shoulder, then rolls over onto her back, stretching her arms over her head. The comforter slips down her body, exposing her perfect naked breasts and I want to roll over on top of her and ravish every inch of her, sink myself deep into her until she whimpers and drags her nails down my back.
I don’t.
I can’t use sex with her to fill the vacancies of my addictions anymore. I wonder if she’ll notice and I’m afraid she’ll think I don’t want her as much as I used to. The jump created fear and doubt where there wasn’t before. My fault. Mine to fix.
Balance is a bitch.
“How about breakfast in bed?” I suggest, grabbing the room-service menu from the bedside table.
She sits up with a drowsy smile on her face. “That sounds amazing.”
Half an hour later we’ve got two trays of waffles, bacon, fresh fruit, and toast spread out on the bed between us.
“This is good, but I really miss your breakfasts.”
“I do, too. I haven’t cooked in forever.”
She tilts her head and sips her orange juice. “I just realized I haven’t seen you smoke one cigarette since I got here.”
“I don’t smoke anymore.”
Her lips part in surprise. “Wow! That’s great.”
“It’s kind of fucked up, actually. When I woke up in the hospital, I had zero desire to smoke. It never came back. It wasn’t even hard.” I shrug. “I just...stopped.”
“That is strange. Did you lose interest in anything else like that?”
“I no longer feel the need to walk to the ends of the earth.”
Relief flashes in her eyes. “That’s really good, too.”
I nod. “It is. Different, but good.”
I keep waiting for the urge to walk away from everything to come, like it always seemed to, but it hasn’t. I hope it never does.
After breakfast she disappears into the shower and I join her five minutes later, unable to resist her wet and soapy body. The fiery desire in her eyes when she sees me naked under the water with her is exactly what I need. She likes the new me. At least physically, which is a start.
“You want to go for a walk in the park?” I ask her when we’re both dry and dressed. My doctor keeps telling me I need to go outside in the fresh air. I think he forgets I spent most of my life outside.
“I was hoping you’d ask that.” She glances over at my old guitar case in the corner. “Do you want to bring your guitar and play?”
She doesn’t know that I haven’t touched the guitar since I jumped because I’m afraid I won’t be able to play anymore. Sometimes the new meds make me feel blank. It’s an odd feeling I can’t put into words, but I’m afraid I’m going to pick up that guitar and my fingers are going to be lost on the strings. I’m afraid I won’t feel the lyrics and the melody in my veins anymore.
I had the same fears with Piper—that the intense love and wild attraction I’ve always felt for her would be killed by the meds. Thank fuck that isn’t the case. If anything, my feelings for her are stronger.
I’m still worried about playing and writing songs, though. So, I’m avoiding it until I’m ready to find out.
“Nah,” I reply, turning away from the guitar. “I just want to focus on you.” I tie my hair back and put a black baseball hat backwards on my head to deter people from recognizing me, since I ran into two fans at the airport yesterday. Former fans, I should say, as they stopped me just to tell me how much I suck for breaking up their favorite band and ruining their lives.
Even though they’re a trigger, I’ve read the ongoing shitty comments online, but having someone say them right to my face in public was like getting hit by a truck. People walking by stared at me with accusing eyes as the two girls went off on me. It made me want to never touch my guitar again. The thought of running to the airport bar and drinking their words away was temping. So was taking my rental car to the seedy edge of this town, a place I knew like the back of my hand, and buying tiny plastic bags of powder and pills and forgetting all this crap.