Page 95 of Bullet
There’s the other shoe dropping. We have been living in this fairy tale bubble I created that I actually forgot the obstacles in our way. My father never wanted me to end up with a brother. He preached to me over and over again that the life of an old lady wasn’t one he wanted for his daughter. He didn’t want me to worry the way my mother would when he would go on a ride. Or for me to end up brokenhearted because the man I chose ended up killed because of their ties to drugs and gunrunning.
He had so many dreams for me, and I let him believe that I wanted them too, but I don’t.
I only want one now, and that is the man in front of me.
“It’s okay. He will see that I love you. He won’t take you from me,” I promise him.
He gives me a sad smile as he climbs into the shower. He pulls me into his arms, holding me so tight that I feel like it’s his way of letting me go.
“I won’t give up without a fight,” he tells me.
“Neither will I, and if he wants to banish you for our love, then I will go with you. I won’t live without you.”
Bullet doesn’t say anything. He only continues to hold me until the water grows cold.
“You’re shivering. Get warm. I’m going to wash up real quick,” he tells me, guiding me out of the shower.
I dry myself off as I watch him. He’s not the Bullet I’ve come to know and love. Right now, he is a machine, going through the motions.
I wish my dad wasn’t coming home.
The thought hits me like a freight train, making me feel guilty. How could I wish that? How could I want it?
When Bullet finally steps from the shower, I look up at him. “I want to go see my mom.”
He is shocked by the request. I haven’t been to her grave since the day we buried her. I couldn’t stand to look at a stone and think about that being all that is left to mark this world of her.
“I’ll take you as soon as we get dressed,” he tells me.
“Can we stop to get some of her favorite flowers? I don’t want to come empty-handed,” I ask.
He steps forward, cupping my cheek. “Anything you want, Angel. You know that. I’ll go get dressed. You do the same. Then we can go.”
I nod. “Okay.”
Before I leave the bathroom, I grab his hand. “It’s going to work out. I won’t let him take you from me.”
He gives me a sad smile before kissing me softly.
I hope we can figure this out because I am tired of grieving the people I love.
When Harlee said she wanted to come here, I was shocked. She has never shown any interest in visiting her mother.
Yet here we stand. She smiles down at the grave, tears in her eyes as she replaces the week-old flowers with new ones.
“Someone comes to see her. That’s sweet,” she whispers.
“I do. It’s where I go every Sunday morning. I bring new flowers and talk to her.” I let the admission linger in the air.
After several moments of silence, Harlee turns to me, grabbing my hand. “Thank you.”
I smile. “I don’t do it for you. I do it for me. Her too, I guess.”
I lower myself to the ground, smiling when Harlee does the same.
“I sit here and I tell her about everything going on in my life. I seek her guidance sometimes. Other times I sit here in silence and try to imagine her sitting next to me.”
She leans her head on my shoulder. “Do you feel like she is here with us?”
