This. This is how it feels to have someone understand you, even though they’ve never walked a day in your shoes.
“I love you so much,” I whisper. “Thank you.” I feel like I’ve known Megs my entire life. I can’t imagine my life without this girl in it. Just as I cannot imagine my life without Cole. Both of them understand me and feed my soul on different levels.
As soon as her arms drop away from my body, I shove my feet into the flip-flops, unlock the front door and jog the rest of the way to mine before bounding up the stairs. My breath is ragged and my chest hurts as I enter my room. I strip off my dress and put on my running shorts, grab some money to buy ice cream and head out for a run just as Cole’s car pulls into his parking spot outside his house. I stop and watch him get out of the car, and my fingers shake at the mere thought of sinking them into his hair. My body shivers, wanting him to hold me. I can keep the little secret about our parents a bit longer—until I speak to his mom—but I don’t have the power to walk away from him. He closes the distance between us in long strides and immediately cups my face. Before I can open my mouth, his lips are claiming mine in a ruthless, desperate kiss. My arms wrap around his neck and I’m three seconds from climbing into his skin, ignoring the thoughts whipping around in my head that I shouldn’t kiss him like he is the air and I’m dying, dying, dying. His scent with a hint of sweat wraps around me, comforting me.
Cole hums under his breath as the kiss slows down, his fingers gentle as he tucks wisps of hair behind my ear. He raises his head, questions in his eyes.
I drop my hands from his arms. “Do you want to join me for a run?” I sign while speaking the words out aloud. He nods and opens his mouth, but I place my finger on his lips to stop him. “No questions, please. I’m sorry for worrying you, but I just need a little more time, okay?”
He studies me, his eyebrows scrunched up in a frown. I hate doing this to him, but this is something his mom should tell him. And if she doesn’t, I will take matters in my own hands. He exhales in resignation, drags his fingers through his hair and nods again.
We end up at St. Christopher’s, and we walk in past the little board, announcing that a Fr. Joseph is taking confessions. And just for a second, I wonder if Fr. Joseph would be shocked by the state of my thoughts. Is plotting ways my dad could die a sin? Is it the same as committing murder?
Cole’s hand presses on my lower back, as he urges me to get inside the church, successfully pulling me out of my thoughts. As soon as my backside hits the bench in the first row, I exhale and close my eyes.
God, I’m so ashamed of those thoughts. Make him go away, please. Just make him disappear. Opening my eyes, I link my fingers with Cole’s and lean my head on his shoulder. He kisses my forehead and slides his free hand around my shoulders, holding me close as we wait for my riotous thoughts to settle.
Thank fuck it’s Friday. Just a few more minutes until this lecture is over. This week has been torture. My mind has been preoccupied during the entire class. I can’t stop thinking about Josh lying on that hospital bed. He looked so fucking fragile. Now that he is home, Mom is making sure he follows his diet at least for the duration that he will be home.
My mind keeps going back to Nor and what happened a few nights ago.
My fist itched, wanting in on some action. This morning, when I saw her dad—that son of a bitch—leave their house, I was three seconds from charging at him and giving him a piece of my mind using my fist.
Christ.
I can’t stand the sight of him. I want Nor out of that house.
Scratch that.
I want Stephen out of that house. The thought of him living with them, terrorizing his entire family with his words and actions makes me want to hurt him so badly. A few weeks ago, Nor told me that she’d often thought about reporting him to children’s social services. The only thing that held her back was her fear of being separated from her sisters and mother.
I shut my eyes tightly and inhale deeply, pulling my last memory of her into my mind. The way she seemed to avoid my eye when we’re talking, the hesitant touches as if she’s afraid to touch me, but that became desperate as if fighting to tell me something. I’ve seen the red marks on her skin where her fingers pinch her arms, or the way she scratches her scars. I’ve been studying her since she and I got close so I know something is bothering her.
Why won’t she talk to me?