Total pages in book: 184
Estimated words: 186756 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 934(@200wpm)___ 747(@250wpm)___ 623(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 186756 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 934(@200wpm)___ 747(@250wpm)___ 623(@300wpm)
“On her.”
Again, I don’t think I should’ve sprung it on him like this. Especially after how he witnessed my fight with my brother. But it’s also something I’ve been wanting to say for the past few weeks.
Because I hate the fact that I have to hide it.
I hate the fact that I have to sneak around with her. That I can’t hold her hand in public. That I can’t make her smile in public or make her laugh. I can’t even look at her in public. Although I’ve broken that rule many times but yeah.
I fucking hate it.
I fucking hate that I can’t go up to her and ask for her hand to dance. Although I know nothing about dancing. I fucking hate that I can’t go up to her and bend down on one knee and offer my ring.
“Your brother’s girlfriend.” Then, raising his palm, “His fiancée now, I hear.”
The ring that sits in my pocket makes itself known.
As fucked up as it is, I always carry it around. Probably because I don’t want it to end up in the wrong hands. Or wrong fingers.
Wrong fingers being her.
As I said, I know it’s fucked up. She’s going to wear his ring sooner or later. I want her to wear his ring sooner or later. I want her to get everything that she wants. I want her to be happy. I want all her dreams to come true including the one about love. But I can’t bring myself to give it back to her without doing some serious damage to someone.
To my twin brother specifically.
Who sits at the top of my trigger list.
While it still looks like I can handle most of my triggers, he’s the only one who makes me angry. The thought of him with her is the only one that makes me agitated enough to bring on my bad days. The thought of her wearing his ring is the only thought that seems threatening enough to send me on a warpath.
So I’ve taken to keeping it on me at all times. It’s better this way.
I’m under control.
My brother is safe.
The fucking ring is off her finger.
“She loves me,” I tell him.
Yet another confession and the one I’ve wanted to make the most.
It’s also the one that gives me the biggest relief.
“She,” Homer begins, shifting in his chair, “loves you.”
“I’m fixing it.”
“You’re fixing it?”
Yes.
I am.
And I mean it now more than ever.
More than when I’d said the same thing to Conrad a few weeks back.
Because not only is she my grounding object, she’s also the one who’s given me a chance to see a different life, hasn’t she?
A chance to live it for the past few weeks.
With her.
Even though we live that life behind closed doors and in the darkness of the night, it’s still a life that I hadn’t seen before. A life that I never thought would be possible for someone like me: fucking, taking a bath, reading, talking, laughing. Watching her favorite movies, drinking tea. Eating roses, catching snow.
I’ve laughed more with her than I’ve done my entire life.
I’ve read more with her too.
And therein lies the fucking problem, doesn’t it?
That I’m starting to believe that this temporary life could be real.
That maybe I could really live a life like that with her.
I’m starting to believe.
That everything will be okay. Despite my demons; despite the fact that I can’t give her all the things she wants and needs, I’m starting to believe that I could have it all.
Even though I don’t deserve it.
Turns out I haven’t changed at all, have I? Because like before – when I was blackmailing her and was ready to ruin her happiness just for my selfish need – I still want to do the same.
I’m still dangerous to her.
“Yes,” I reply back to Homer who’s once again looking at me with curiosity.
“Why?”
My chest feels tight. “Because she deserves the best.”
“And you’re not that?”
“No.”
“Shouldn’t she get to decide that for herself though?”
“She should,” I say gravely, my chest feeling tighter by the second. “Just not this.”
And that’s why the time has come to finally have a talk with my brother.
Time has come to finally sit him the fuck down and have a proper conversation with him about his intentions toward her. A girl doesn’t just become your fiancée if you put a ring on her finger, no. You need to be there for her. You need to care for her. You need to actually fucking love her like he claims to.
Which, for all intents and purposes, I haven’t seen.
So after the championship game, we’re going to have a fucking talk and he’s going to get his fucking act together.
Homer hums. “Not sure if that’s the right move though. Girls generally don’t like to be told what to do.”
I raise my eyebrows. “And you have a lot experience with girls.”