Page 87 of Love Like Mine


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“Eh, I’ve been called worse.” He shrugs.

He stands up and then helps me to my feet. I suddenly feel emotional and depressed because my breakout attempt didn’t work. I sob. I don’t even fucking know why. All I know is that I feel like nothing but a failure and I can’t deal.

He pulls me into his arms and I continue sobbing. I’m feeling so overwhelmed. We stay like that for a while until I calm down. I try to smell his scent to see if it’s familiar but it isn’t. That has me wondering if I know this person.

Oh my God! What if it’s Trent? I instantly stiffen and push away from him.

“What’s the matter?” he questions.

“You’re not that asshole Trent, are you?” I question.

“No. I don’t know any Trents. Why, is he your boyfriend?”

“Ew. Gag! I just wanted to make sure. He’s an asshole who needs to die or disappear.”

“Come on, let’s go up so that you can get a shower,” he tells me.

“I don’t want one!” I tell him even though I most definitely need one.

He doesn’t say anything or argue with me. He throws me over his shoulder and walks up the stairs with me.

“I’m not going to argue with you since I’m pretty sure you’re in the crash phase of this withdrawal process. You’ll most likely be irritable and give me attitude,” he says and I roll my eyes even though he can’t see me. He walks us into the room I was in this morning and drops me down in front of the bathroom. “I’ll go get some clothes for you.”

He comes back a moment later and hands me the clothes. It’s a SpongeBob pajama set. How the hell does he know I like SpongeBob? I eye him suspiciously as I set the clothes on the bed.

I head into the shower and take a long and hot one before I’m done and head back into the room. He’s sitting on the bed, braced against the headboard, watching me no doubt.

“Do you mind?” I ask with my hands on my hips.

“Nope.”

“Pervert!” I snap before grabbing the clothes and heading back into the bathroom as I hear his laughter behind me. It’s a nice laugh. Ugh! Get your head out of your ass! I mentally chastise myself. I quickly get dressed and then head back into the room to find that he’s still there.

“Get in,” he tells me when I just stand here.

“Are you sleeping in here?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“I need to keep an eye on you in case you have any more withdrawal symptoms. Plus, I noticed that you aren’t sleeping well,” he tells me. I want to laugh because that is the understatement of the year.

Not wanting to argue and feeling drained once again, I climb into bed next to him. I try to stay on my end but he pulls me into his arms.

“Do you want to talk about anything?” he asks.

“No.”

“Why not?”

“There’s not much to tell. My life was a dumpster fire before I ended up here in another dumpster fire,” I say.

“Storms don’t last forever, you know.”

“Feels like mine will.”

“You’re here now and I’m helping you get better which means the storm clouds are starting to go away.”

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