Page 65 of Beautifully Shattered
Even though I’m a snotty mess, Ringo still scoops me up, carrying me out of the shower and dries me before slipping one of his tees over my head.
I don’t deserve his love. His affection and care, but I’m too selfish to walk away.
I know I still have friends. And my little sister. But Ringo? I need him like I need air. Without him, I don’t think I can get through this.
Carrying me to his bed, Ringo’s voice is gentle as he says over and over, “I’ve got you.”
There’s so much pain inside me. So much guilt and disgust swirling together. It’s unbearable, and I just want it to stop.
I wantallof it to stop.
Sliding into bed with me, Ringo cocoons me in his arms, and I soak in his love, even though I don’t deserve it.
Eventually, I cry myself to sleep, drifting into a space of nothingness where time doesn’t exist. Pain doesn’t exist.
I don’t exist.
When I wake later, Ringo is still awake, running his hand over my hair in slow, soothing strokes. He’s still here with me despite my breakdown. Despite me pushing him away so many times, I’ve lost count.
He’s here. And that means something.
“How long was I asleep?” I croak, my voice raw.
“Only thirty minutes, Angel. You should try to get some more sleep.” His lips press to the top of my head, and I burrow closer, clinging to his warmth, his scent helping to keep me together.
“Are we staying here tonight?” I mumble into his chest.
“No. The wake will end at midnight. We’ll ride home after that. But we can rest here until Jols brings you some new clothes. I’m not taking you out there wearing just my t-shirt, Angel.”
A small smile tugs at my lips, but then guilt instantly stabs me.
I need new clothes because the ones I had on were soaked in Wendy’s blood. There’s nothing funny about that.
Sure, she deserved to be punished, but did she deservethat?
Who have I turned into that can do that so easily? That I can smile right now? That I could beat her to a pulp, drag her before an audience, and shoot her?
I cringe inwardly, self-hatred sinking its claws into my chest.
Did I really just smile, the thing I can rarely do lately, because I killed another person?
I consider that and replay Ringo’s words in my head, only to realise, the moment I smiled, I wasn’t thinking about Wendy and all the blood. Iwas thinking about what we did in the shower, and perhaps that’s a bigger reason to feel guilty.
I let myself feel good.
I shouldn’t feel good.
Nothing about what I did is good.
Sharing that kind of moment with Ringo almost feels wrong, because there’s nothing right in my life anymore.
“Wanna tell me what’s going through that head of yours?” Ringo asks, and I shift, peering up at him to find those whiskey eyes full of love.
How can he love me after what I did? After the monster I became, not letting him help me… and pulling a gun onhim.
He should hate me.
“I’m afraid if I tell you, you’ll send me to a psych hospital.”
