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Weighing my options after standing in her room for two minutes like a creep, I finally decide to try it. Without lifting the blanket, I crawl onto the bed, kicking my boots off, each one hitting the floor with a loud thud. If she notices, she doesn’t say anything. Biting my bottom lip, I scoot closer, waiting for her to tell me to leave, to fuck off.
I don’t stop until my body is touching hers and even then, that’s not enough for me. Wrapping a heavy arm around her slim waist, I nestle her into the spot against me, the spot that I’m sure was made just for her. She stiffens for a few seconds before relaxing into my touch. Breathing her in, I let her floral scent calm me. A moment later, she starts to sob again, heavy bursts of what I can only describe as pain rip from deep within her chest.
I want to say something, anything, but I don’t know what. Instead, I hold her tighter, burrowing my face into her hair, letting her know that I’m here, that I’ll always be here if she’ll have me. I hate myself for hurting her, for breaking her more than she already was.
“When will the pain stop?” she whispers, her voice hoarse.
“I don’t know. I’ve asked myself that a thousand times in the last five years.” There’s a long moment of silence and then she clears her throat to speak again.
“Sometimes…” Her voice is thick with emotion and I feel her sadness, her pain, it pricks at my skin, it suffocates me. “I wish I never chose dare that night. I only chose it because I wanted to prove to you that I wasn’t a baby, that I could do one little dare. Now that I think about it, I see how stupid that was.”
I smile into her hair, thinking of how even back then she had me wrapped around her finger. We were joined at the hip, where she went, I went. We were strictly friends, but I hungered for more. I wanted it, and if she had stayed, if everything hadn’t fallen apart, she would’ve been mine a long time ago. I knew it. Hell, I would’ve made sure of it.
“I’ve blamed myself every day for telling my father. I’ve blamed myself, knowing that telling him ruined everything, and even now, I blame myself more after finding out that your father hid the truth from you, that he lied and placed the blame on me.”
There’s a vise-like grip on my heart and it’s squeezing so tightly that I know at any second it will burst, leaving me a bleeding massacred mess.
“I don’t fault you for being angry with me, for wanting to hurt me, for thinking I did this to you, to your family,” she whispers, and it’s so soft I almost don’t hear her speak the words.
God, she’s wrong. So fucking wrong. I’m at fault. What I did was wrong.
“None of what I did was okay, and no amount of words or apologies will take that back. I hate myself so much for hurting you, Ava, and I’ll never, never, forget it.”
“If I could… I would…”
A shrill scream pierces the night air, causing both Ava and I to shove up into a sitting position on the bed. What the hell? Another scream follows the first and before I realize it, I’m jumping off the bed and rushing for the bedroom door.
“What was that?” Ava whispers, following closely behind me.
Glancing over my shoulder, I press a finger to my lips. She nods her head, eyes wide, fear slicing through them. Turning, I pull the door open, then I step out into the hall. I can hear the sound of feet scuffling across the floor downstairs. What the fuck is going on?
“Here, give me the gun, Greg.” Laura’s voice wobbles. “You don’t want to hurt yourself or anyone else with that, do you?”
Gun? Greg? Ava pushes past me and starts down the hall, but I reach for her, my hand circling her wrist and pulling her back against my chest. She shifts in my arm, a protest on her lips when her father’s voice pierces the air.
“First you take my wife, then you take my daughter…” Greg slurs.
He’s drunk and he’s got a gun. That’s a deathly situation and one I’m not going to let Ava put herself in the middle of.
“I have to go to him. I can get him to calm down,” Ava whispers, a frantic look in her eyes.
I know she wants to help her father, but I refuse to let her put herself in that kind of danger.
“I didn’t take anything, and you’re supposed to be at the rehab facility. We can’t help you if you don’t let us,” my father says.
“Help?” Greg snorts. “You never wanted to help, it was me who helped you. Me, who gave you and your family a place to live, and you…” The pain, the hate it’s suffocating. “You stole my wife, you made me this way.”
