Page 107 of Carry On
“Have you thought more about seeing a therapist?” he asked. “Or someone you can talk to?”
He thinks you’re crazy,the voice said.
The question grated on a raw nerve, rubbing on something I tried very hard not to face. Not to fucking deal with.
“I know I’m fucking broken,” I snapped.
“I didn’t say you were broken,” Lincoln replied. Yes, I was.
He’s lying,the voice agreed.Everyone can see.
“But—”
“Have you ever killed someone, Lincoln?” I interrupted, shutting him up. I arched a brow and waited for his response. When he said nothing, I continued, feeling the rise of emotions inside me. “Do you know what a brain looks like splattered on a wall?”
Still nothing.
“Have you watched everyone around you die and wonder why not you? Why the fuck were you the one who lived?”
Because it sure as fuck wasn’t lucky.
Lincoln didn’t say a word as I leaned in closer, my voice dropping.
“Have you evernotblinked because if you did, you’d miss something?” I asked. “And if you miss something, you’re dead. Or maybe the person you’re responsible for is dead.”
Still not a damn word.
“Make no mistake, I know just how fucking broken I am,” I assured him. “I am exactly what the world made me before it spat me back out like trash.”
“You’re—”
“We live in a world of instant gratification and throwing money at the next shiny thing,” I said, cutting him off once more. “Everything brokengets thrown out in the trash, people included. You know I’m right. You’ve seen it.”
He nodded slightly. At least that was something.
“So don’t try to tell me that I’m something I’m not.”
“Then what does that make me?” Lincoln asked softly.
“You’re a little bruised around the edges,” I replied, my tone softening. And he was. The world hadn’t destroyed him. It’d beaten him up a little and changed him permanently, but he wasn’t broken. “Bruises heal. You can’t fix broken, Linc, and you can’t fix me.”
No one can fix you,the voice commented.
His expression was composed as he stared at me. Studied me. Looked at me like he was mentally attempting to dissect me and figure out the best way to approach his response. That careful calculating thing of his was an art. It was impossible to read him when he was like this.
You scare him,the voice continued.
“Want to go home and watch reality TV shows while we day drink?” Lincoln replied, completely switching the topic. I understood and appreciated the attempt to distract me from the world.
“Is day drinking an option?” I countered.
“Reality TV is non-negotiable, but the rest is up in the air,” he retorted. “It’s good for the soul to judge people for their life choices.”
“Baby, you married a homeless man you didn’t know.”
“I know, which is why I’m a damn good judge.” He smiled that gorgeous, infectious smile of his. Yeah, I wanted to lock myself away from the world and drink in his goodness. “Cuddling is optional.”
Taking his hand, I leaned in closer.
