Page 8 of The Destruction You Desire
"When times are hard, go out with your girls and dance the night away," she says, holding her glass up to clink mine.
"You and Mom do that often?"
"More than I'm willing to admit to, sweetie."
Feeling a little lighter, I make my way upstairs to shower and dress in record time. Dread still sits heavy in my stomach but deep down, I know that Aunt Fee is right. I need this.
My determination wanes a little as I sit in front of the mirror in my small room applying my makeup. I'd hoped that sliding into the dress would give me the confidence I need to walk into a party tonight and figure out a way to enjoy myself, but it didn't have the magic effect I was hoping for.
I stare at myself with my mascara wand halfway to my face and let out a loud sigh.
Maybe this was a bad idea.
As if someone can hear my thoughts, a soft knock sounds out on my door.
"Yeah."
It creaks open before Elijah pokes his head inside.
"Whoa," he says, taking in the low-cut of the dress and my breasts that are damn near spilling out of it. "That dress is…" He trails off clearing his throat instead.
"Yeah, it's something," I mutter, looking back at the mirror and continuing with the job I started.
"How are you feeling?"
"Honestly?" I ask, shooting him a look over my shoulder as he lowers himself to the edge of my bed. My eyes linger on him dressed entirely in black and looking sinful. "I'm a mess. I have no idea if this is the right thing to do."
Leaning forward, he rests his elbows on his knees and watches me in the mirror.
"There are no rules here, Peyton. You just have to follow your gut."
"I need to talk to him."
He nods. "You do. But do you think going to find him tonight would be the best time?"
I think about Luca's hot temper both when we were kids and what I've witnessed recently, and I know that finding him when he's probably still angry would be the worst thing to do.
I need to let him cool off. Get his head together. Then we need to sit down like sensible adults and talk properly. I almost laugh out loud at the prospect. I'm not sure either of us have it in us to manage it. We drive each other crazy whether we mean to or not.
"No," I confess, remembering that he asked me a question.
"Exactly. So, go out and blow off some steam. He's not going anywhere. This issue will still exist tomorrow."
"Great. Thanks for that."
"You know what I mean. This isn't the sort of shit that gets fixed easily or quickly, so just give yourself some time and trust that everything will work out in the end."
"I wish I could be so positive about things."
He shrugs. "I deal with life or death on a weekly basis, Peyton. No problem is ever as serious as that."
My stomach knots at the reminder of what he does for a living and I immediately feel awful for acting like the world is ending with my family issues.
"No, don't look at me like that. I didn't say it to make you feel guilty."
"I know, I know. It's just… ugh."
"Come on," he says, jumping up and straightening his shirt. "Finish up and we're going out and putting all your troubles behind you for a few hours."
