Page 94 of This Life and All the Rest
I should leave her here. I should sleep on the couch. I should give her space.
Instead, I set the water glasses on the nightstand and climb into bed next to her. Just as I start to drift off, she rolls over and puts her head on my chest, her arm wrapping across my middle.
For the first time in years, I feel complete.
And in the morning, I wake to an empty bed.
TWENTY-SIX
Dad is backin the ICU and only allowed one visitor at a time.
He’s pale and tired and in pain, and I hate it.
But he’s alive.
I don’t let myself think about the monitors going crazy after Dad started gasping, or how the color was leeched from his face when he lost consciousness. The nurses rushed in and pushed me out of the way, transporting me to that basement bedroom with Macon.
I might as well have been wearing a ruined bridesmaid dress for how lost and terrified I felt.
It feels like I’m haunted by death. It’s always hovering just around the corner, and I’m so damn tired of it.
The doctors say Dad could go home in five days, which seems ridiculous to me. He just had his chest cut wide open. How can he go home in five days? It doesn’t seem right, but I’ll be glad to see him eventually looking more like himself.
His cheeks are growing gaunt and sallow, and dark circles are always shadowing his eyes. Even smiling seems to wear him out, so I try to smile enough for the both of us.
I spend about an hour with him before he starts to drift off to sleep, so I kiss him on the forehead and tell him I love him, then walk slowly to my car.
I thought I would be back in Paris by now. A few days ago, I was itching to be back, but now? Now, I’m not so sure.
Being here hurts, and I feel it in my bones. They ache with all the weight this month brings, and it just doesn’t end. Now my father is sick on top of everything, and I know I should stay longer while Dad recovers. At least until he’s out of the hospital and doing better. I can spend more time with Andrea and Evie. Sam and I can suffer through my birthday here.
And Macon.
I tell myself he has no influence over my decision, and then I tell myself it’s not a lie.
But last night...
When I think about it, my whole body burns. When I think about his hands, his mouth. The way he made me feel. I fist the steering wheel and try to push the flashbacks out of my head, but I can’t. They’re on a constant loop.
Make me feel something else.
Him pinning me to the door. Carrying me to his bed. The slow, sensual sex. I didn’t know sex could feel like that.
I give my head a shake. I can’t think about this right now.
I’ll deal with it later, or not at all.
I’ve made the mistake of letting my guard down with him too many times in the past. For all I know, this is just another game for him. Using me to feel better about himself.
In high school, I was the only one who tried to see past his troubled exterior. I always tried to find the good in him, and it always backfired.
But...I don’t know.
Itfeelsdifferent this time. He says he hasn’t been with anyone else. Could that be true? Or could he be trying to manipulate me? He told me I wasn’t special that night in his kitchen. Which one is the lie?
I think, deep down, I know the truth. I don’t know what it says about me that I wish I didn’t. It would be easier if he were a monster.
I turn my radio louder to drown out the rest of my thoughts as I drive.
