Page 93 of Worship
I shove my hands into my pockets and begin to walk home.
Quickly at first and then slower.
It’ll take me an hour, maybe more, but I walk anyway. The more I walk, the more my mind wanders, each time finding its way back to her. I start reliving all the moments I’m giving away: the smiles I’ll miss from her beautiful face when she gets her way, and the touches I took for granted but will never forget.
I walk and think about all the ways she made me want to be the man she believes in. She believed so deeply that she asked me to be him today. My fucking heart starts to tear into pieces. She’s right. I’m a fucking coward.
There’s comfort in knowing what to expect, and in this fucked-up world that I live in, I maneuver the players. I have control.
But with Gretchen, there isn’t any control. She’s my equal, my queen. I have to be willing to be hurt and disappointed. I have to really live, and I’m too much of a fucking coward to take the risk.
My eyes drift to the stairs in front of me, and I realize I’ve made it home. I suddenly feel weary. This is a place I wanted to share with her; I’d hoped to move her in.Everything on my terms.
Jesus, I’m lost. Nothing makes sense without her, and no amount of revenge or violence can fill the deep fucking wounds left from Gretchen being torn from me. It suddenly all feels empty.
The door opens and Rose is standing in the doorway.
“Mr. King, are you all right? Your hand, sir.”
She looks at my swollen hand as I reach for the railing, the security light on the house acting as a spotlight.You think this is bad, you should see my heart.
I wave her off.
“It’s nothing.” I lie as I climb the steps with heavy feet.
She holds the door open for me as I pass her to enter the house.
“Where’s Ella?” My question is said without a thought of the time.
“Sleeping,” she answers.
Her brow creases with confusion. I shake my head in apology, lifting my hand in retreat, and trudge up the staircase to head to my room.
As I walk past Ella’s room, I poke my head inside to have a peek and hear her tiny snores. What kind of life am I condemning Ella to by holding on to the comforts of what’s so fucking normalized?There’s that word again.
Pulling her door shut, I head the rest of the way to my room and open the door. Shelby looks up from where she’s sitting on my bed.
“Hey.” Her voice is instantly nervous as she scurries off the bed to stand.
I narrow my eyes, untrusting.
“What are you doing in here?” I snarl, making my question sound more like an accusation.
Her face screws up in disgust.
“Don’t worry, I’m not trying to fuck you. I didn’t think you’d be here, so I was going to sleep in here. It’s more comfortable than the guest bed.”
My mouth opens to tell her to get the fuck out, but I close it just as fast. I’ve lost my taste for blood.Shelby looks at me, bewildered; she assumed my actions too. I come into the room and shut the door behind me, then walk to a chair by the fireplace and sit. I’m tired, physically and mentally.
“Let me ask you something.” I pause, allowing her to answer as I take off my shoes.
Her eyes widen. “Okay,” she answers nervously, fidgeting with her oversized sleep shirt.
“If I were to let you leave, what would you do? Would you go back to Giovanni?” I ask, genuinely curious.
If it weren’t for terrible men, this girl wouldn’t have a home. Does she even have hopes or dreams, maybe even a life she wishes for?
She puts her hands on her hips.
