Crave Me (The Good Ol' Boys #4)(10)

All the boys laughed, except for me. Lucas didn’t think anyone was watching as he longingly gazed down at Alex. Knowing that all he ever wanted was her. I bowed my head, silently praying they didn’t ask me what I wanted out of life.

There was no way in hell I could give them an honest answer.





<>Briggs<>


Two years had gone by since I killed my parents.

They say that when you experience trauma, a drastic, life-alternating change, you’re suddenly forced to grow up. Become wiser beyond your years. Mature in ways that didn't make sense except to the people who may have experienced similar events.

I knew that was the case with me.

I was eight-years-old and living with my Uncle Alejandro in New York. I had been taken away from everything I had ever known and was brought there, in a city full of buildings and no one to talk to.

Home.

He moved me across the country to start a new life, a life much different than the one back home in Washington.

No warmth.

No happiness.

No love.

I had a life back there. I had everything I could ever ask for. I lived in a home full of love and laughter. Pictures lined the walls of my home. The fridge was covered with my drawings. Daisies were always on our table.

My family.

I had none of those things there.

No friends.

No family.

No parents.

Uncle Alejandro hired a nanny to take care of me, but all she did was cook my meals, clean my clothes, and watch over me. She smelled funny and didn’t say much. My driver, Esteban, was the only person who was actually nice to me and paid me any attention. He looked young and had been assigned to protect me. Uncle Alejandro used the word “bodyguard,” but I didn’t really understand what that meant or why I needed one of those, though I didn’t dare question him about it.

My uncle had blue eyes like my mom, but that’s where their similarities ended. She always told me he was her baby brother and he looked really young too. He was tall, so tall that it hurt my neck every time I had to look up at him. I was told I had to look him in the eyes, especially when he was talking directly to me. I was to do the same when answering him and only talk when spoken to. He didn’t explain why, and I was once again too terrified of him to ask. He was built much bigger than my daddy, taking up almost the entire doorway when he walked through it. They were Columbian and he spoke with a slight Spanish accent, even though my mom didn’t. His brown hair went past his ears and it was always slicked back, away from his face that also had hair on it. He wore nothing but suits with shiny black shoes that echoed down the halls in the penthouse.

I barely ever saw him and when I did, it wasn’t for more than a few minutes. He always made it seem as if he had something better to do than pay any attention to me.

My mom lied.

Uncle Alejandro didn’t love me.

Not even a little.

I was there because I had to be, not because he wanted me there. He didn’t have to say it for me to know it was the truth. There were times that I overheard him speaking in Spanish, thinking I didn’t know what he was saying. Little did he know, I was bilingual. Since I was a baby, my mom had spoken to me in Spanish and my dad in English. It was an ongoing joke in our family about how Mom would speak in Spanish only when she was talking about Dad, because he didn’t understand what she was saying. She would pick on him and call him a “white boy” and he would always reply that she was his Latin Queen.

I smiled at the thought.

I only smiled when I thought about them.

Thinking about my mommy and daddy made my heart ache. It hurt so bad that sometimes I couldn’t breathe. I was drowning in the misery I created, getting sent here as punishment for killing my parents.

Sentenced to a life of being alone.

I had no one else to blame but myself. It was all my fault. I woke up every night from nightmares and had no one to comfort me. No one to hold me and tell me that everything was going to be all right.

No one to tell me they loved me.

That’s what hurt the most.

I had all of that before but...

I wished them away.

It only took a few minutes for my life to be ripped from me. I shook my head, trying to push away the images of my parents and the last time I saw them. It didn’t matter. I didn’t feel safe in the house that was now known as my home.

I cried a lot.

I cried more times than I could count.

“Daisy!” Esteban shouted, walking onto the back porch that overlooked the city of Manhattan.

It was the only place I felt like I wasn’t dying, the lights of the oversized buildings resembled twinkling stars. I hadn’t seen real stars since Washington. I quickly wiped away my tears, not wanting him to see me cry.

“There you are. I’ve been looking all over for you,” he added, stopping when he caught me wiping my face. “Are you okay?”

I nodded, looking down at my hands that were now placed in my lap. I heard footsteps and assumed he left like I knew my uncle probably would have. I was surprised when I felt him softly grip my chin, making me look up at him. It was the first time I realized how kind his eyes were. They reminded me of my dad’s, which only made my eyes fill up with more tears.

“Hey… it’s okay,” he soothed, crouching down and pulling me into his arms.

It was the first time anyone had hugged me in such a long time. The first time anyone showed me any kindness or love. Any sympathy. I leaned into his embrace, soaking it up as much as I could, knowing that it wouldn’t last long, and silently praying that it wouldn’t be the last time someone would hold me and try to make me feel better.