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“And Jackson…”
I swear to God, at the mention of his name, the hair on the back of my neck stands up. Like a fucking dog with raised hackles. “Don't talk about Jackson.”
“You and him broke up and you didn't even tell me. Your dad told me.”
“He'snotmy dad.”
A dad gives you rides to school. A dad makes silly jokes and embarrasses you in front of your friends. A dad doesn't make your chest hurt and your head ache and cause bile to crawl up your throat and a ball of self-hatred to settle deep in your gut.
A dad is around longer than a few fucking agonizing months.
I don't understand why she doesn’t get that.
“Hun, I know this is hard-”
“This isn't hard.” I can't help but laugh at the absurdity in that one little word. “This is fucking unbearable.”
Being around her, being in that house, God, even being around Pen sometimes is unbearable. That's another thing I don't understand, how everyone else seems to be able to handle it yet I can't.
Howsheseems to be able to handle it. How I'm the one fucking dying under the weight of this guilt when she's the one who messed up. How he keeps his house and his wife and his reputation while everyone else suffers.
I just don't fucking get it.
“How can you sit there in a home that you ruined and act like everything's fine? Do you even understand how fucked that is?” My voice cracks as I blink back tears. “Did you even apologize for what you did? Do you even regret it at all?”
“Of course I don't,” Ma answers without hesitation, her voice and expression soft as she reaches for me. “It gave me you.”
“That's a bullshit answer.” I step out of her arm’s length. “It's like you don't even care. You're so fucking selfish.”
“Lu-”
“Get out.” She doesn't move. She just stands there, staring at me, mouth a little slack jaw like she can't believe what I'm saying. “Get out.”
Achingly slowly, she turns around, walking towards the door at the same pace, glancing over her shoulder all the while like she's waiting for me to ask her to stay.
I don't.
I wait until the door shuts behind her before I let the tears stinging my eyes fall. They stream down my face as I collapse on the sofa, falling faster and faster the more worked up I get. My head falls in my hands as my entire body starts to shake.
I'm so fucking sick of this. The fighting and the anger and the guilt and the fucking secrets. I can't do it anymore, I can't deal with the bullshit. I need it all to fucking stop, just for a minute.
A moaning, wail of a noise escapes me when there's another knock on the door. I try to ignore it but it's unrelenting, a steady rapping of knuckles. When the doorbell goes, I almost scream. Assuming it's my mom coming back for round two, I rip the door open, ready to yell or scream or just fucking cry, I don't know.
Even through tear-blurred eyes, I can tell it's definitely not my mom.
The sight of Jackson standing there, a plastic grocery bag in one hand and a bouquet of flowers in the other, only makes me cry harder. Pink and blue flowers. Pink and blue fucking flowers with a white ribbon securing the stems. I'm not even crying anymore, I'm sobbing, weeping, wailing, whatever the step above just crying is, and it's so fucking absurd thatflowersare what's sending me over the edge. Shaking my head, I try to slam the door. “Please, just leave.”
I shouldn't be surprised that he does no such thing.
Instead, he pushes the door open, forcing his way inside as I cover my face with my hands, like I’m trying to hide the tears. Over the sound of the godawful noises escaping me, I hear the door click shut before fingers wrap around my wrists and gently tug my hands away from my face, replacing them with a new pair. I keep my eyes squeezed shut but, God, I can just picture his face, concern lighting up those brown eyes. Concern I don't deserve, not from him, concern I can't breathe under the weight of.
“What's wrong?”
I try to say 'nothing' but it ends up as another wail that hurts my throat and my head, the noise muffled as I’m cemented against a hard chest. “You're scaring me, sweetheart.”
“Please don't call me that.” I can't take him calling me that.
Jackson walks us backwards until my calves hit the sofa, pushing me gently to sit. He crouches in front of me, one hand smoothing up and down my thigh while the other guides my head to rest in the crook of his shoulder. “You're okay.”
