Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 100466 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 502(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100466 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 502(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
But everyone fucks up sometimes.
Everyone hurts the people they love.
At least, that's what I try to believe. No, I do believe it. I just struggle with letting go of the weight of the expectations that come with love.
When things with Dad or Damon were tumultuous, Mom looked to me for stability. She never put it into those words, of course. She never neglected to keep food in the fridge. She never forgot to take me to school or asked me to comfort her when she cried.
But she was glad I was easy.
And even though she hid it, I heard her cry. I saw it. Over Damon more than over Dad.
What else could she do? Her son was slipping.
But my brother was slipping too. And I didn't have anyone to help me with that.
Sure, my parents tried. They explained in calm words. They offered space to share my feelings. When I didn't, they suggested therapy.
It helped, but only so much. I didn't transform into a person who never struggles to let her guard down.
I still work too much and try too hard to achieve good things to never bother anyone with my needs or expectations.
This weekend is supposed to be a break from that. The only expectation is fun.
It's a party, and I'm out to a) enjoy this time with my friends and family and b) get laid, but both those things are already complicated.
And I'm already pulling into myself, shutting down, trying to not talk about it.
"Are you okay, Daph?" Damon taps my shoulder. "You're off some place." His voice is even, as if it's a casual observation, but I still hear the concern.
That's the problem with a brother in recovery. He knows all the tricks. He knows how much people pretend they're okay and how hard we all try to turn away from our pain.
I have a high-functioning, socially acceptable coping mechanism, but I'm not different, really. I still try not to hurt.
Everyone does.
I appreciate the interest; I do. And I'm glad he's doing well enough he can see I'm struggling and ask.
I just—
I'm going to miss him.
I don't want to tell him I'm leaving.
I'm so glad he's okay, and I'm so worried he won't be. And I miss the times we leaned on each other more, even though that weight was too much for me.
Everything is true, all at once. So, I stick with something true. "Thinking about school."
"It's a big change. It's normal to feel freaked."
"I know. I do. But I don't really want to go there right now, okay?"
He holds my gaze for a moment, deems me okay enough, nods. For a minute, we sit quietly, letting the silence find some space between awkward and comfortable. Then he asks the question he can't deny. "Do you like Jackson?"
"What?" I will my cheeks to stay pale.
"You keep looking at him like you want to do unholy things to him," he says. "He's a good-looking guy. I don't blame you."
"But?" I ask.
"Did I say but?" he asks.
"Is there a but?" I hear a but.
"He's a good guy, too, but a mess, romantically."
Yes, his relationship history is a little suspicious. A breakup that led to better sex and all phone sex, at that. And all the women he dated before that—women I never met and Cassie never mentioned. But still. Is my brother seriously telling me a guy is a mess? He spent years getting drunk every night and fucking randos he totally forgot the next morning. "You spend six months in a relationship, and suddenly you're an expert?"
"Fuck. You really like him." He doesn't get even a little mad. No, it's much worse. He laughs at my pain.
"It's not funny!"
"It's pretty funny."
"Maybe to a jerk like you."
He nods maybe.
"But yes, in a very unfunny way, I like him," I admit. "Don't spread it around. How can you tell anyway?" Maybe it's that obvious. Maybe the blinking sign in my brain saying must have Jackson now is bright enough that people can see it from a hundred feet away.
"You can't fool an alcoholic. We know denial." He smiles, good-humored about it. A dark humor, yes, but a good one.
It eases the tension in my chest. "I am worried about you. Las Vegas is a lot." Okay, sure, I shouldn't change the subject so fast, but I need to get through this part, if I want to get to the fun stuff. Even if the fun stuff is my own misery.
"It is," he agrees. "But I have people to call."
"And you'll call me if none of them pick up?" I ask. "Do you promise?"
"If you promise the same." He offers his hand.
I shake.
"So…" He doesn't say enough stalling. He just leaves it implied. "What's happening with you and Jackson?" Damon raises a brow. "Why does he keep looking at you like he wants to… do things I'd rather not picture."