Page 215 of It Should Have Been You

For what?

But before I can even fathom a response, he's turning back to Hannah, the playful glint returning to his eyes. “Now, what flavor ice-cream do you want for dinner?”

Fifty-Three

I’m not sure how long I’ve been standing here, staring at myself in the mirror, the tube of red lipstick shaking in my hand.

It shouldn’t be this difficult to apply some damn lipstick. I’ve attempted to apply it too many times to count, but right before it reaches skin, I feel his touch there instead.

My heart pounds in my chest as my inner argument causes a sweat to break out along my hairline.

A part of me just wants another piece of control back.

It’s stupid.

It’s lipstick.

Yet, I can’t press it to my lips without wanting to be sick.

With every second, my eyes become more hollow, every ounce of life lost in the memories—his fingers touching my chin in a bruising grip, parting my lips as his soft thumb smudges the red along my cheeks. Tears blister in my eyes, falling over the smears.

His voice echoes there, ringing around my head until my lungs constrict and the air leaving my mouth is shaky.

“Hey, pretty girl.” And just like that, a monster’s voice is replaced with Logans.

I flinch, dragged back to reality with a bang, but my shoulders slump forward as I grip the edge of the sink.

“Where did you go, baby?” he asks softly, taking a tentative step towards me. Our eyes meet in the mirror.

“Just getting ready for ourrealfirst date.” I try to smile but it falters.

I relax into his hold as his hands press lightly to my shoulders and he spins me around to face him. I drop my gaze, afraid he’ll see the ghosts replaying in my eyes.

“No, I mean where did you go?” He curls his fingers under my chin, tipping my head back. Goosebumps erupt as his fingers trace an imaginary line from my neck to my temple. “Where did you go in here?”

How long was he standing there?

Sometimes I hate when he can read me so well.

I open my mouth to explain but the lump is so thick in my throat it threatens to choke me.

The same hand drops from my face and lightly brushes my arm until his hand wraps around mine to remove the red lipstick. His brows pull together as he feels the tremble in my fingers.

“Did you get in an argument with your makeup?” He takes the lipstick from my hand and places it on the counter, not once taking his eyes off me, and I’m pulled into him like always.

He doesn’t ask why I’m shaking, and I don’t tell him, but I think he knows. My memories play so easily on my face.

“My dad had a girlfriend when I was little. I don’t think they lasted long, but she was kind to me.” I have no idea why that’s the explanation I come out with, but it’s the first place my mind went, and I can never think straight when he’s so close. “She was beautiful. Glamorous. And she always wore red lipstick. I loved wearing it too, but…” The words get trapped in my throat.

With a reassuring squeeze of his hand, I know I don’t need to explain.

He understands.

He read the journal.

His fingers are still dancing over my skin, his gaze attentive to every word.

“Do you trust me?”

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