Page 25 of Under the Texas Sky
There’s so many things I could say to you–that I want to say.
The main one is, I’m sorry. I was dumb, an idiot, whatever name you want to call me. I should have done better. I should have been better.
I don’t blame you for leaving. I never did. I hated that it came to that, but I never hated you.
I miss you.
I miss the way that, when you first wake up in the morning, you smack your lips and slowly crack your eyes open.
I miss the way you scrunch your nose when a song comes on the radio that you don’t like.
I miss when you would lay on the couch, under a heated blanket no matter how hot it was outside, and watch reruns of old TV shows. I especially miss when you would randomly quote them in conversations with me and roll your eyes when I didn’t understand it.
I miss the dimple in your chin when you would smile, and the sound of your laugh when I would tell you how much I want to bite it.
I miss you, so fucking much.
My dependence on alcohol had nothing on my dependence for you. I’m living without alcohol now. I have been since that day I showed up at Mitch’s with my overnight bag. That night was one I will regret for the rest of my life. And I never want a repeat of it. Without it, I’m a better person. A better worker. A better friend. I might never get the chance to prove it to you, but that’s okay. I made my bed, and now I’m forced to lie in it, with the ghost of you.
I love you. Yesterday. Today. Always.
Yours forever,
Trent.
CHAPTER 23
KIAN
“Hold your head up, elongate your neck. Not that long, Jesus fucking Christ, we want you to look sensual, not like a giraffe. PERFECT. DO NOT MOVE.”
I hold my pose, keeping my abdominal muscles tight and breathing slowly through my nose to not disrupt the perfect position my roommate Willow put me in. This brand wanted very specific pictures of me in a very precarious position. It’s also very risqué, but who am I to say no when I love flaunting what I have.
The hot Arizona sun beats down on my tanned skin, relentless in its pursuit to burn my skin like a tomato. These are the times I’m grateful for high SPF sunscreen. No matter how many times I sit out in the sun in a Speedo, I never want to risk skin cancer.
“Done. Beautiful. My photography skills have done it again.”
I heave a deep breath and relax my abs and my back. The tension has me twisting from side to side to ease some of it. It’s not comfortable holding the same pose for thirty minutes, while your “amazing” photographer messes with the lighting because she doesn’t know how to use a camera.
“Thanks, Will. I owe you one.” More like three, as in three hundred dollars. Since I’m generous, and I like to split my earnings with her for doing all of the pictures that I can never seem to take on my own.
She doesn’t care, though. The Daddy’s money princess that she is, she doesn’t have to worry about the cost of anything. Just swipes her card and walks out. Doesn’t even have to consider if it’ll decline or not.
She’s been a godsend since I packed my shit and left Texas, with nothing except my phone, my work laptop, and a bag of clothes. Because crying into an overpriced caramel latte wasn’t exactly how I planned to spend my first night in Arizona after the nice trucker dropped me off here. But when life gives you lemons, and all that.
My meager belongings were in the seat beside me, while I used the free WiFi at that coffee shop to work on a project on my laptop. Because even when your boyfriend cheats on you, then gives you a sexually transmitted infection, then you run away and catch a ride from a random stranger to a state you’ve never been to before, your boss still expects you to get your job done. At least he was letting me work remotely.
When the chair across from me scratched across the concrete floor, I lifted my tear swollen eyes. And there she was, bright and way too smiley.
But she ignored me crying.
Instead, she jumped right into telling me all about her latest issues with her pilates class. What started out as something she did for fun had now become a competition and she hates losing. Of course, I was on her side. Because the way she oozed charisma, it made me want to be her friend. It made me want to be more like her.
After a very long, in depth conversation about my life, and all the excruciatingly sad details, she took me in like a pet project. We’ve been together ever since, and it’s not like I can complain. Or will ever complain. Her–excuse me,ourhouse–is huge. Fivebedrooms, two master rooms. One on the first floor where she lives, and the other on the second floor where I live. The patio is on my floor, and if we time it just right, we can get the perfect midday glow that all the modeling agencies are going gaga for right now.
So between my modeling and having everything paid for by my best friend slash sugar momma, life is so freaking sweet.
My phone dings and Willow huffs, the annoyed sound amusing.
