Despite my better judgment, knowing the floodgates will burst if I see the hurt on his face, I turn around in his embrace anyway. His eyes are red-rimmed and glossy, and his bottom lip is quivering. He brings his hands up to cup the back of my head, bringing our foreheads together.
A strangled cry comes up my throat and my eyes close, unable to look at him. This is too much. Too much emotion… the very thing I purposely numb with drugs. I’m feeling it anyway, and I can’t handle it.
“I l-love you, Crew. Please fucking let me help you.Please.”
His words break something in me that I didn’t even know could be broken. He can’t love me. Doesn’t he fucking know loving me never ends well? Can’t he see that?!
“Don’t love me, Anderson. You’re safer that way. There’s a reason my parents stay away. Loving me is a mistake. I’m a poison. You can’t fucking love me.”
“But I do, Crew. I fuckinglove you. Please let me in.” His lips find mine, tears continuing to fall from us both as he seeks entrance into my mouth. My lips part, and his tongue caresses mine, pouring absolutely everything he has into this kiss. The salt from our tears mix with the love and heartbreak we’re sharing with our mouths’ connection.
“Please,” he cries against my lips. His fingers sink into my hair, holding me close, as my hands fist his shirt at his sides. I open wider for him, deepening the kiss, knowing that while I can’t give him what he needs in the big picture, I can give him what he needs right now, with this.
My lips, my tongue, my touch… they can all show him the love I’m internally screaming and dying to profess but refuse to voice. Saying it out loud would be the most selfish thing I could do. I wish so fucking bad I could be what he needs. What he deserves. How much I desperately wish I could be strong, quit this shit, and have the life with him I know he could give me. But I can’t. I’m weak. Fucked up. Damaged beyond repair.
People like me don’t get the happily ever after.
We get an early grave, an obituary stating we were taken too soon, and people who loved us sitting around talking about all the“good times”we had, and what we could’ve become. People will tip-toe around the fact that our death was selfish, that we did it to ourselves. They’ll ignore the fact that we cared more about the poison we sniff up our noses, smoke into our lungs, or inject into our veins, than the people who loved us and begged us to let their love be enough.
The kiss breaks, and I lay my head on his shoulder, basking in the love that surrounds him, begging myself to change, be strong enough to destroy my demons, but knowing it’s futile.
But for now, I can pretend.
Chapter Thirty-One
Crew
“Well, isn’t this fucking precious.”
My spine stiffens and my blood runs cold as Kalen’s voice sounds by the backdoor, behind Anderson.
Shit.
How could I fucking forget he was stopping by? I’ve been too busy playing fucking pretend, when I should’ve been making sure Anderson was long gone before Kalen arrived. The last time they were in the same vicinity, Anderson beat the shit out of him.
This isn’t going to be good.
Anderson goes stock still, his gaze meeting mine, eyes hardening. “Are you kidding me?” he spits out, voice low enough that only I can hear him.
“It’s not what it looks like.”
“You mean he’snothere to suck your dick after we got into a fight again?!”
“No! I swear, Anderson.”
“Then why is he here?”
My eyes look away, unable to tell him why he’s actually here. He turns to face Kalen, who’s slapping a fucking eight ball of cocaine down on my patio table.Well, guess I don’t need to tell him.
“Is your boy gonna party too?” Kalen asks, a shit-eating grin on his face.
“Knock it off, Kalen.” I walk around Anderson, reaching into my pocket for my wallet, and pull out a couple of bills, laying them on the table and grabbing the coke.
“Are youfuckingkidding me, Crew?!”
“Not now, Anderson.”
“No, I think now is aperfecttime. Don’t fucking do this.”