Page 101 of Protect Home
“Eventually,” he murmurs, a playful smirk passing his face. “But you look as pretty as ever. Whatcha got there?” He nods to the snow globe in my hands.
I shake off my nostalgic thoughts. I’m all up in my feels today, and it shows. “Just a childhood memory. I’m getting huge,” I say, rubbing my swollen stomach and setting the snow globe on the dresser.
“Don’t talk about my baby mama like that.”
Flipping him off, I walk toward the bed and sit beside August’s legs—legs bigger than the two of mine combined. Unable to help myself, I place a finger across the sparrow tattoo on his thigh. “I like this,” I say.
His eyes trace the motion of my touch. “It was my first tattoo.”
“Yeah?” My head lifts. “What does it mean?”
“A sparrow means protection. Learning to deal with life and navigate the tough shit,” he breathes out heavily. “I’ve had to do a lot of that in my life.”
I’m not sure he realizes how steadfast he is.
“It’s beautiful,” I whisper, taking in every detail. The sparrow exudes this next-level amount of assurance. It looks strong and collected—not easily swayed. Its feathers and structured details are outlined with gray, black, and white shading, giving it a timeless feel.
It looks almost three-dimensional, like it could fly off his skin.
It’s strikingly beautiful.
“But look at you now,” I say, looking to encourage him however I can. August seems quiet and reserved today. Still himself, but like something is weighing heavily on his heart.Like he needs to talk, or maybe just wants some silent company.
“I’ve come a long way, that’s for sure.”
“You should be proud of that,” I tell him confidently. “Your ability to adapt to anything has challenged me.”
That causes him to peer at me in question. “What do you mean by that?”
I decide now is probably the best time to tell him more about my life. Things I’ve never shared. “I, uh…had a really great life growing up. I won’t sugarcoat it. My parents are the best of the best, and I realize how fortunate I am.” I send him a soft smile, hoping he understands that wasn’t a dig at him. His hand clasped with mine tells me we’re okay.
“But for some reason, I’ve always had a really difficult time trusting people. People outside of my family, I should say. It took me longer than necessary to even be friends with Navy. She forced herself on me, and that was history. But anyone else…it’s like I’m wired to automatically assume the worst in them.”
“I noticed that the second I met you,” August informs me kindly. “But I also figured you had probably been hurt. It was always easier to join you in the fight than watch you battle it alone.”
I’m not sure he realizes how much his words affect me. To know that August quite literally met me where I was and decided to be my friend rather than point out my issues. As strange as our friendship was back then, I’m happy it’s evolved to what it is now.
“That means a lot to me, August,” I choke out. “I think growing up an only child may have had a lot to do with it. I was picked on a lot, and in return, I had to learn to defend myself. Mentally and physically. I was on my own, and that meant having to do the hard stuff. I always envied thekids who had older siblings who watched out for them. Over time, my skin just thickened, I guess. It sounds like the lamest excuse.”
“Not at all. But answer this for me: what would anyone ever have to pick on you about?” His concern and defense for me don’t go unnoticed. He seems genuinely baffled that I would experience bullying. Isolation.
“Well, for starters, I had a strong Georgia accent at the age of twelve. It’s diminished a lot, but my parents still sound as country as can be. I love that about them, but for whatever reason, that qualified me as someone to tease. I don’t know. It’s stupid.”
“What the fuck? You live in Georgia. Nearly everyone in this state has somewhat of an accent.”
I nod because he’s right. “I know. But it didn’t matter. That was just the start. When I hit high school, I was much more…endowed than girls my age. I hit puberty fast. My period, boobs, acne, everything you can think of… I had it, and early. For whatever reason, other girls didn’t like that, and the boys liked ittoomuch. I know it was hurt teenagers just trying to find any reason to make me feel small. The worst of it started when I got my period in the middle of math class. August, there was blood everywhere. I was mortified, and that essentially put a target on my back. They used my humiliation and insecurities against me, and I let it get to me. Until I didn’t.”
“Makes me livid. There’s nothing I hate more than bullying. I get the same way with my brothers and sisters. Kids can be really fucking mean. I’m sorry that happened to you.”
“Me too. I think the incident that really set me off was in high school, my junior year, when I found a petition, or whatever they called it at the time, taped to my gym lockerfull of signatures. I was confused at first, thinking someone had surely mistaken my locker for someone else’s. But nope. One of the girls somehow managed to get the entire gym class to write predictions of which football player would take my virginity first. Each line had a player’s name and the signature of whoever guessed them. I knew at that exact moment that I would never trust anyone ever again.”
“You’re kidding.”
I shake my head. “Not a single bit.”
“Fucking hell. What did you do? Where were the teachers?”
“I still ask myself that same question. But none of them knew. I had no one to defend me when I took it to the administration, something I swore I would never do. But they took it too far. Come to find out, it was one of my closest friends who orchestrated the whole thing.”
