Page 85 of The Truth of Our Secrets

“Baby Girl, I fucking hope not.”

Emmet

I fucking hate the subway at night. I’m unsure if it actually smells worse or I’m more conscious of it because I’m not crammed in.

The car is empty and I have a bench seat to myself, so I prop my legs up. I’m dying to talk to Madyson and Jayce, but it’s too late to call, and it’s way too late to drop by like “Hey, I was in the neighborhood. Mind if I sleep in your bed?”

I’m pathetic. It’s like there’s a string attached to them pulling me, but it’s breakable. I’m so afraid they’ll get sick of me. It’s hard to believe it’s not temporary even though they carved out space for my things.

Madyson has such a huge heart, but I can’t be her pet project. I’m fearful that once I’m fixed, she’ll move on to some other broken soul.

But Jayce.

I’m insane. It’s too fast for these feelings.

Undeniably, I’m lying to myself. I’m half in love with them already. But I can’t trust it. I’ve never experienced romantic love. I think my sister loves me, but she needs me and separating the need from the love is hard.

My mother is barely hanging on. She takes her meds when she feels like it. She’s headed for another breakdown and short of living with her, I can’t stop it. It’s so hard to think about myself first.

I was conditioned as a child to put her first. And when we were taken away, I sacrificed my future for my sister’s. I can’t save my mom from herself. It’s a full-time job.

I put my head in my hands. I’m an asshole. No one should think that way about their mother.

The evil voice in my head reminds me she’s never grateful. She doesn’t care that I’m breaking myself in two trying to pay her bills and have no life of my own. If I moved back, she’d shrug and say that it’s my responsibility to clear her shit out of the second bedroom. She’s never taken care of me.

There’s a huge amount of self-loathing after I leave my mom. It’s never been this bad. It might be the stark contrast of the way she treats me and how Madyson and Jayce treat me.

They welcome me in their home. They gave me goddamn space in their bedroom and bathroom for my shit. I don’t even have enough shit to fill what they refer to as a tiny space.

All I want is to show up at their apartment and let them hold me in my sleep. When I’m with them, I dream of a better life. I have hope for the future.

It’s a reprieve from the anchor my mother placed on my neck the day my father left. And it’s only gotten bigger over the years. I don’t know how to shed it. Obviously, I can’t fix my mom.

I rise, getting off by Unframed Art and wishing like hell I could go to them.

The building is dark except for the safety lights. The glow of the city lights the loft, so I don’t bother turning on the lights. Toeing my shoes off, I head to my room and flop down on my full-sized bed.

There’s an ache in my chest weighing me down. I shouldn’t crave sleeping with them. It’s amazing how fast I got used to their touch and warm bodies. Madyson’s term touch-starved rattles around my brain. That could be my issue.

My heart feels something more, but my head is screaming that I’m delusional.

My phone lights up on my chest, and I suck in a breath.

Firecracker: Just wanted to say good night

Me: Night sleep tight

I hit send and realize that was fucking stupid. It’s one of the only good memories I have from my childhood. My mom telling my sister and me, “Good night, sleep tight, don’t let the bedbugs bite.” At least I didn’t type the last part.

J-Bear: Hope you had a good night

Me: Thanks see you tomorrow

My finger hovers over the send button. They initiated contact and it would be weirder to ask to see them. My heart beats overtime, and my brain is trying to decode the messages, wondering if they miss me, or if I’m being presumptuous.

Firecracker: Can’t wait

J-Bear: thumbs-up emoji

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