16. Colson
SIXTEEN
COLSON
I open my eyes and squint against the bathroom lighting. It’s way too fucking bright and makes my head throb unnecessarily. I resituate my body, straightening against the wall behind me. It protests with an ache setting deep in my bones. My arms and legs are as weak as they were when I was a prepubescent boy with no muscle. My stomach wavers with each movement. So much that I have to actively try to force away the nausea that settles into it.
“Fuuuuck,” I groan out. It gives me a tiny bit of relief but not enough. It lasts all of five seconds before my gut is back where it started, which is wanting to upheave every ounce of stomach acid that rests in it.
And that’s all there is.
Because I sure as shit know I didn’t eat much yesterday.
Thinking about it makes the rest of the day come back in a rush.
The cemetery.
That casket.
The lawyer.
The marriage license.
Booking it out of there so fucking fast.
Sebastian showing up.
Violet showing up.
Me spitting venomous words.
The memory of four specific words— just like yer father.
I’m not the one who’ll be getting Mom’s money and house. Clyde Lincoln, the man who Mom secretly married without anyone knowing, will be.
I also have the gnawing suspicion he might also be my father because who else would it be?
I stormed out of Stewart’s conference room before Aunt Bess or Uncle Thad could get two words out. I walked until my legs got tired, stopped at a liquor store where I grabbed another bottle of Jack, and drank way too much on my way back home in an Uber.
Everything hit me at once yesterday. Every facet was like another million-pound boulder on top of me until I couldn’t handle it anymore. I snapped. Went right back to the angry teenager I was years ago, but that’s not saying much considering I’ve been riding the line of that person since Mom died. Back then, I would let it get in my head that my mom was a raging addict and the one person who could’ve saved me from it—my father—didn’t think I was worth sticking around for.
Trudging through yesterday was like being a quarterback on an empty field and continuously getting sacked by an invisible force. I tried to get back to my feet but inevitably ended up on bruised and battered knees.
Visions of my fingers wrapping around furniture and chucking it filter in. One time wasn’t enough to control my temper, so I kept picking shit up. Kept throwing it. Tossing it into the walls without a care in the world. Without worrying about the mess I’d wake up to or the damage it caused.
It felt helpful in the moment, but now, as I sit here and dwell on it, I feel like a giant piece of horse shit.
I see Sebastian’s face. How he tried to quell my outrage but wasn’t successful. He stood in front of me, nearly got hit with a kitchen chair and still didn’t leave.
Then, he had to go and invite her over. He had to show Violet just how fucked up I am. That I’m nowhere near the man she needs or deserves.
Everything happened so fast after that. Sebastian and Violet followed me to Mom’s room where I left my trusty bottle of liquor. I drank down more, and when Sebastian tried to interfere, I told myself there was no way in hell he’d take that bottle out of my hands.
Not when I was desperate for every last drop. Anything to make me forget about all the shit conspiring against me and that would continue to unravel. Because if there was one thing I was certain about, it was that this revelation with Clyde wasn’t going to be swept under the stain-infested rugs I grew up walking on.
Aunt Bess wouldn’t let it. Once he found out that Janie was gone and he was next in line for over a hundred grand, he wouldn’t let it, either.
Where did that leave me?
With my hand around my cousin’s throat while the girl I loved watched me fall apart.
I stand in front of the bathroom sink, turn the water on and wash my hands. The cold water falling over my hands brings me back to life. Splashing it against my face feels even better, but when I look in the mirror the guilt and dread hits me all over again. Shame becomes a second skin as I think about the way I taunted Violet with cruel, vulgar words she didn’t deserve.
I have no choice but to go out there and face my mistakes. That is, if Violet and Sebastian are still around. Who the fuck knows if they are. If I were them, I would’ve left last night without a lick of guilt. I don’t know why they continue showing up for me. All I’ve done is continuously treat them like they’re worthless and put them through a hell neither of them earned.
After I shut off the water, I take a quick piss, then wash my hands again before I open the bathroom door and listen for my cousin and my girl. How fucked up is it that I still consider her mine? That I can’t stand the image of her being with anyone else yet said what I did about her?
Sebastian’s words hit me all over again.
You want me to take the only girl you’ve ever had feelings for and fuck her so good that she forgets about you? You want some other guy to fill the void for her because your dumb ass can’t get his shit together?
I want none of that, which is precisely why I reacted the way I did. I’m ashamed that I’ve fallen so far off course. That I don’t consider myself good enough for her or worthy of her helping me through this season of my life.
The hallway is quiet, so I trudge into the kitchen with light footsteps. It’s empty, along with the living room, but fuck, the place is a mess. A different kind than Mom used to leave. Broken furniture is scattered throughout the space. Dents are formed into the drywall where there isn’t wallpaper. There’s broken glass in the sink. I faintly remember tossing a glass of water into it before I cracked the top off my whiskey.
I drink a fresh glass from the faucet and decide it’s best to check the rest of the house before the sun rises any more than it already has. The sunshine is slowly starting to slant its way in through the windows, but it won’t be long until the day is in procession, and it’s Groundhog Day all over again.
My bedroom is the first place I check. I’m relieved to find it empty and untouched. Apparently, I gave my belongings a pass last night when I was pulling a Tasmanian Devil. Mom’s room is next, and I’m hesitant to get to it. Mostly because it’s where I’ve been spending most of my time.
Life was far from perfect with her, but when I sit and think hard enough, I find crumbs of memories I want to hold onto. Times she made me laugh or fleeting moments when it felt like, for a minute or two, we were normal. When her issues with dependence weren't cackling in our faces and our lifestyle wasn’t miles away from the closest version of perfection.
I stop short when I walk through the threshold and see a brunette curled under Mom’s comforter. Wearing sweatpants and an oversized sweatshirt, she looks entirely too comfortable. My heart seizes in my chest, and I’m not sure if it’s because she’s so beautiful or if it’s because she’s still in this house.
I’ve told her before that she doesn’t belong here, and I still believe it, but she just looks so…peaceful. The glow of the sun coming in through the window hovers above her, creating a halo above her body. I want to hold on to her forever, but she’s angelic in every way that I am not. I don’t forget that as I quietly make it across the room and sit next to her.
Resting my hand on her arm, I squeeze it gently, hoping it’ll be enough to stir her from her sleep. It is, and she rubs the sleep away from her eyes.
I said shit last night, and when I did, I didn’t give her the time of day. I acted like she wasn’t there. The foulest words blew past my lips, and now I have to sit here and tell her how much I didn’t mean them while hoping and praying she grants me a level of forgiveness I can’t justify.
I need her to know that the alcohol morphed my reality. It put a twisted spin on my thoughts and made everything seem uglier and harsher. It turned my heart black.
“Hey,” I croak quietly. She pulls her arm closer to her body, effectively making my hand fall from it. She doesn’t want to be touched by me? Cool. It’s like the grenade I threw last night boomerangs back and explodes from within, my heart and blood coating the walls of the room with black sludge.
“Hi.” She says it in a hushed tone. I get the biggest urge to wrap my arms around her and pull her to me. To rest my head on her shoulder and let it all out. To voice how close I am to losing myself altogether.
“You didn’t leave,” I murmur, my throat dry as hell.
She shakes her head and sits up. It only creates more space between us. I only have myself to blame for it. I’m the one who caused this. Who gave her the stick she’s pressing into my chest in warning.
“Sebastian had to head back, but I didn’t want to leave you on your own.”
She looks at me with careful precision. Like she’s trying to get in my head and figure me out. “Are you okay? I understand if you don’t want to talk about it, but Sebastian told me…”
Told you what? I want to ask, but I already know.
I drop my chin and suck my cheeks into my mouth and try to think of what to say, but for once, I don’t want to bullshit. I don’t want to brush off the nagging sense of unease that I wake up with and go to bed with every night.
“I’m the farthest from okay I’ve ever been,” I admit in a low voice.
Her lips morph into a frown. Her eyes do the same. It reminds me of that saying to smile with your eyes, only hers are downturned and lacking the brightness they held before Uncle Thad ruined it the night of the fundraiser.
“I can tell,” she murmurs.
Every cell in my body begs her to touch me. To curl her fingers into my hand, to brush the back of my neck with her nails, to pull me in and never let me go.
“Last night was…” My words trail off as I try to find the word I want to use.
“A lot?”
“No.”
“Oh.”
“I don’t have a word to describe it, but I remember saying and doing things that should’ve never happened. I don’t know why I put my hands on Sebastian other than knowing I needed to feel something different than I was.”
“Is your jaw okay?”
I nod, realizing that there’s a stiffness to it as I talk. The image of Sebastian hitting me comes back in full force. “Nothing I can’t handle.”
“I feel like you’ve said that before.”
“Because it’s true.”
“Is it?” she asks. “How can you say it’s nothing you can’t handle when you’re destroying things, Colson?” Her voice turns pleading. “I thought you were going to choke him out. There was a second there when I was afraid for his well-being. And the things you said…”
“Were fucked up. I know.”
Her features grow solemn, her frown growing more pronounced. The emotion in her eyes drowns out the golden hues. And her eyebrows cave to the weight, her forehead wrinkling in effort to hold them up.
I squeeze my eyes shut and run my hand through my hair. I’m still in the jeans I wore yesterday. My sweater got discarded when I returned home after the lawyer fiasco. The plain white T-shirt I wore underneath stretches over my back as I lean my elbows on my knees and hide my face in my hands.
A moment passes before I sit up and give it to her straight. “I shouldn’t have said any of that stuff. I wasn’t speaking from a place of honesty. I said it to hurt you.” I swallow, hating how it feels to admit that. Honesty is a bitch. So is accountability. “I said it so you’d leave, because it pissed me off that Sebastian invited you over when, clearly, things were not great.”
“I’m glad he did.”
I scoff. “How can you say that? I don’t understand why you continue to show up. I don’t deserve it, Violet. Look at me. My life is one wrecking ball away from being reduced to rubble. You want to get buried beneath it all? Because I sure as hell don’t want you to be.”
“Maybe things would have ended a lot worse if I didn’t come.”
“They did end badly.”
“And why wouldn’t I be here for you?” she asks, steering backward in conversation. “Remember when I was having a hard time with my dad? You listened to me countless times, gave me advice, and got me out of my head when it mattered most. It’s only fair that I offer the same back.”
“So, you’re not mad at me for telling Sebastian to fuck you? That you’re damn good at sucking dick and that you swallow?” My voice hardens, and I arch a brow at her. I almost wish she’d stand up for herself. That she’d look me in the eye and tell me what a jerk I am. “Because if I were you, I’d sure as shit be pissed.”
She pulls at the hem of her shirt. “It was hurtful,” she says. “I won’t lie and say it wasn’t.”
I wind my hand up underneath the comforter, find her foot, and grip it. It doesn’t matter if I like feet or not. At this moment, I’d fucking lick them to make sure she knows how sorry I am for acting like the biggest asshole in America.
Her eyes lift to mine the same time I squeeze my hand around her arch. My apology pours out of every crevice in my body. “I’m so fucking sorry, Violet.” It’s like my heart is under an ice pick, and my stupid actions come along and chisel it clean open. “You never deserved that. You haven’t deserved anything I’ve done lately.”
“I feel like…I don’t know what to say to you anymore,” she voices shamefully.
That makes two of us, baby.
I’ve been on autopilot. The logical side of my brain has barely been powering through. Everything I’m doing, it’s not because I’m talking myself into it. It’s because I’m not talking to myself at all. The fucks I originally gave have vanished, and my emotions are running the show.
“We used to be able to come to each other for whatever. Or well, at least I did.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I question.
She purses her lips. I keep my hand on her foot because I need to feel connected to her in some capacity. Even if it’s through the most disgusting body part ever created.
“I think you’ve been open with me when it comes to some things. More open than you are with other people but…” She pauses, and my heart sputters. “Then there's other stuff that I know you haven’t been very transparent about. I keep telling myself that it’s okay, but I don’t think it is anymore. This is new for me, too. I’ve never had a boyfriend who has lost a parent, much less to addiction, and it’s clear how that’s affecting you. But communicating about it has suddenly been bumped higher on my list of importance. Outside of your emotional rollercoaster rampages, I feel…in the dark. And I don’t know how to help you fully, even as a friend, when I’m so far out of the loop.”
I don’t know where this is coming from, but as much as I wish she were wrong, she’s not. I have been reserved on certain topics, or rather, one in particular, and that’s Finn.
“This isn’t anything like I’ve ever experienced,” she continues. “I know who you are to an extent, Colson. I’ve told you my deepest, darkest truths. I don’t need to know every single detail of your past to see that you really are a decent guy. But what I saw last night…it’s like you were a totally different person. The guy that saved me at Lucy’s would’ve never said those things. I can’t help but think there’s more going on than meets the eye. I can’t help but be jealous and hurt over Sebastian relaying information to me that?—”
“That what?”
“That a boyfriend would typically tell his girlfriend.” She holds a hand up. “And I know we’re not together anymore, but we’re something , and that has to count. It has to, Colson.”
Her palm slides across my cheek and the warmth alone from it makes my lips part. I am dying to be close to every part of her, but see, I pushed a big, heavy boulder in front of me when I was strong, and now that I’m weak, it’s too heavy to move aside.
“I don’t want to fight with you. It’s only going to hurt us more. The only one who thinks you’re a piece of shit is you. You’re going through stuff, but so am I.” She shakes her head and sighs. “I don’t know why I’m saying all this or if I’m even making sense. I guess I just wish we could talk to each other and take the burden off one another like we used to. That we could confide in each other fully.”
She rubs her thumb over the tired skin under my eyes. From all my lack of sleep, I don’t look as well rested as I should. Her eyes trail over my face like she’s ingraining it into her memory, and her face turns sheepish.
“Maybe this isn’t the time to say it. Maybe I’ll regret it the instant it comes out of my mouth, but if things keep up like this, I don’t know if I’ll ever have the opportunity to tell you again.” Her eyes land on mine. It’s blue against brown, but at this moment, we’re this swirly color of azure and roasted pecans. I feel it and so does she. A short reprieve in an otherwise long-lasting battle.
“You are…unlike anyone I’ve ever known. We all have our flaws and situations in life that seem to tear us down, but you used to walk around as if they were no match for you. You were so light even when I could sense the heaviness trying to cloak itself over you. I loved that about you. That you could go with the flow of life and still be okay. But more than that, I love you. The good and the bad, Colson. And one day, you will make it out of this. You’ll find that man again, the one who let the worst slide off his back, the one who is worth more than what he’s currently putting himself through.”
This is not where I was expecting this conversation to go.
Things truly are royally fucked if me running my mouth about her last night has turned into her confessing her love for me.
I shouldn’t allow her confession to wiggle its way into my chest and spark new life in me, but I do. Her loving words are a shawl over my coldness. A blanket tossed over someone who has spent days on a snow-covered mountain covered in frostbite. I need the heat more than she knows. And she’s so, so fucking warm.
“Don’t feel like you have to say anything back. I know you’re in a difficult place, and this isn’t about me, but I want you to know that people care about you. That even in your darkest moments, when you don’t love yourself, and especially when you have your walls up too high for anyone to see in, we’re here for you.”
My jaw clenches. My hand around her foot twitches. “I want to pull you into my lap right now,” I confess. Just for a minute .
It’s an invitation more than anything. She made it clear yesterday morning that we can only be friends if we’re going to make it out of this unscathed. I don’t doubt that she won’t make it. It’s me who I’m worried about. When I remove the shit-covered glasses, it’s hard for me to see her standing there with me.
She’s not always going to be this kind. Her experience with Webber has only strengthened her need to stay true to who she is, which is stellar for her. But that person isn’t the same one who stays with me; the guy who continuously fucks up and drags her down. The guy who doesn’t open up entirely. The guy who has secrets.
When I find my way across, she’s going to be long gone. On the back of a white horse with her knight in shining armor. Which is why I’m living in the moment and being selfish enough to steal a tiny, little piece of her again.
She unfolds her legs and climbs the short distance over to me. We were practically knee to knee before, so it takes no time for her to plop down into my lap and wrap her arms around my neck.
My hands fall to the bottom of her shirt. I can’t help it when they find their way beneath it. I need to feel her. I need my skin touching her skin. I need her warmth snuffing out my chill.
She murmurs against my neck, “You will get through this.” And when her lips briefly brush over my skin, I want to take way more than a hug from her.
I want her underneath me, so I can make love to her. So she can give me the strength to wade through this awful storm as I fill her and ask for love in return.
Tell her you love her back, my mind scolds. Before she finds someone else.
I don’t want another dude making her forget about me. The thought of it alone sends me into a gut-wrenching spiral of madness.
I mean, look where my hand ended up last night.
Even if there is someone out there who’s better for her, I don’t want her with him. I want her with me so fucking bad, but I don’t know how to make it work.
I don’t know how to cater to her when I’m the broken mess I am. I don’t know how to give her what she needs when I don’t even know what I need.
My palms run over her smooth skin, and we sit there for a long while as I contemplate all the ways this chapter of my life can end. Not all of them include us walking toward a sunset together.
But if I ever want that possibility to exist, something has to change. The problem is, I have no fucking clue how to do it. And more than wanting to consider the future, I want to ignore and forget and pretend that the agonizing pain ripping through me like a storm in the night doesn’t exist.