Page 47 of Sweet Shots

“Hell yeah I can attend,” I say.

“I haven’t given you the date yet,” she says with a bit of humor.

“Don’t care. I’ll be there.”

“Well, for the record, it’s September 27th. If you can verify your address for me, you will receive a proper invitation and instructions for the event.”

I give her my address, she tells me the invite will be in the mail this week, and we end the call.

Today is turning out to be a good day. Now, if Mikah texts me later, it’ll be perfect.

Chapter Seventeen

Mikah

As soon as I hit my pillow, I’m out. I wake up three hours later, groggy as hell.

Stress always gets to me this way: draining me and stealing all my energy physically but especially mentally. Zach swears it’s depression, but I try to explain it isn’t. I don’t feel depressed, I’m just overwhelmed. I get tired and want to sleep. Probably because my brain knows it’s the only time I’mnotstressed. It shuts down and doesn’t have to spend energy worrying about everything. I hate that I’m like this. I truly wish things were different.

I wish I hadn’t grown up the way I did and that it didn’t cause so much trauma that all I can do as an adult is worry it’ll all come back. I live in fear, each and every day, that my life will go back to how it was. Trailer that’s falling apart. Roaches. Ants. No food. No electricity. Don’t even get me started on the shit my mother caused over being verbally and physically abusive.

And even though I’ve done everything I can to make sure I don’t go back to that life; it’s still a fear. Especially after I got so damn close to it. I’m not sure I’ll ever change. I’m always going to be like this. My mother royally fucked me up, and there’s nothing I can do to fix it.

But there are ways I can feel better…

If only they didn’t have to do with the sexy, arrogant neighbor I can’t stand.

Or couldn’t stand, because he’s growing on me.

Fuck off, he’s growing on me.

The last thing I need is to rely on someone to make me feel better—to fix me. I don’t need anyone to fix me. I’ve learned to live with my shit, and I was perfectly fine until he came into the picture. But I can’t help but want more of what he has to give. A taste of freedom from my own mind? That’s dangerously addicting. And it’s why I reach for my phone, open our text thread, and send him a text.

Me: I’m awake.

Asshole Neighbor: That wasn’t a nap. It was a sleep.

Me: It was a terrible idea, is what it was.

Asshole Neighbor: Didn’t help?

Why does he have to be like this? Why can’t he just be the jerk I thought he was? Why is he doing everything to prove me wrong?

Me: Not at all.

Asshole Neighbor: Sounds like you need a drink.

Me: I think what I need is to go back to sleep.

Asshole Neighbor: Wrong. What you need to do is get up, shower, dress nicely, and meet me at my place. We’re going out.

Oh no. The last thing I need to do right now is go out.

Me: I’m not in the mood to deal with people.

Asshole Neighbor: Good thing it’ll just be us then. I expect you here in an hour.

He makes it really difficult to say no. At first, arguing with him was simple. Now? I just want to do what he says because I know how it makes me feel. Better than I’ve ever felt before.

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