Come to Me Quietly(65)

I couldn’t help wondering what she was thinking. Was she hurting after what I’d done to her? After I’d left her standing there confused? Used? Because that’s what it had been, hadn’t it?

Me consumed with the way she made me feel, the way she filled up this f*cking void in my chest like she belonged there. Me deceiving myself that for a few seconds it was okay.

But this was Aly. My Aly. And I’d used her because I wanted her so badly and because I’d never known anything that felt so good. Her presence was like this balm I didn’t understand, solace in the insufferable night.

So like the * I was, I’d taken.

I pressed the heels of my hands into my eyes. Shit. I was always f*cking taking.

Guilt had eaten at me all night and day. I shouldn’t have touched her, shouldn’t have allowed her to touch me. Now it lingered on my mouth and swam in my spirit, the memory of her kiss.

Overpowering. Intoxicating. Too much.

The sickest part was that I wanted more. I had to get out of this apartment, out of this city, before all this shit caved in on us, before we imploded and there was nothing left of either of us.

The shower squealed as it was shut off, and the metal curtain rings screeched as they were pushed aside.

Thank God Christopher was gone. I wasn’t sure I could handle sitting on the couch beside him, acting as if everything was normal after everything had gone to shit, after I’d pinned his little sister to the wall, after my hands had been on her. He would f*cking kill me if he knew what had gone down last night, and he had every right to. I wished he would. I deserved it.

Now I would give her an apology. Try to explain myself a little.

The hardest part was it seemed as if none of my reasons or explanations fit together because it felt like maybe Aly and I did. I heaved a breath through my pursed lips and shoved that dangerous thinking aside. Without a doubt, that wasn’t possible. I wasn’t made for anything but ruin.

I’d apologize the best I could and promise her I’d pack my shit; then she’d never have to see my sorry ass again.

Rustling echoed from her bathroom. A drawer opened and closed, and a cabinet door banged shut. I imagined her standing in front of the mirror, drying off, then slipping on those sleep shorts she always wore. How wrong was it that I was hoping so? That I wanted nothing more than to endure living through the sight of Aly dressed like that one more time?

That’d be the last thing I took with me – the memory of her kind face mixed with that body. The two combined made me dangerous for her to be around, and I was putting an end to it all.

I stopped outside the bathroom door and rested my forehead against the wood, listened to her subtle movements on the other side, and wished things were different than they were.

What I was getting ready to do was going to hurt worse than any conscious decision I’d ever made.

I kind of wanted to laugh because all of a sudden I was thinking about all the phrases they’d used while I was in juvie, during the sessions they’d placed me in because that’s where they sent all the junkies. I’d thought all of it bullshit because they knew nothing about me. They’d talked about the withdrawals we’d experience, but how it would be so much easier while we were on the inside and separated from all the temptations on the outside. They’d warned us that once we got out, we’d have to be careful to stay straight, to keep our noses clean and the triggers at bay.

Two weeks ago I’d made the decision to keep my trigger close. Aly was the greatest temptation I’d ever had, and I’d decided to pretend that just extracting myself from her room would be enough. As if seeing her every day wasn’t going to wear me down. I should have known I would slip.