55
Valentina
Ifinally convinced Huxley to let me pack. A day later, but still.
Grabbing two dresses from my closet, I turn around to him. “This one or this one?”
He groans while lying on his back on my bed. His head hangs over the side, staring at me upside down. “Valentine, just pack them both so you can finish. I feel deprived of you.”
“I’m not going to pack my whole closet just so you can kiss me.”
He groans again and rolls over. His face pressed into the mattress, he mumbles something into the bed.
“What was that?” I ask.
He lifts his head. “I said your bed is wildly uncomfortable.” I roll my eyes and shake both dresses at him. “The red one,” he finally answers.
I look over the red dress contender. Normally, I’d be all for the long-sleeved lace number, but I feel a little hesitant. “Are you sure? Red just always screams sexy to me. And I don’t know if I should wear that to dinner with my brother and his husband.”
“They’re gay, Valentine,” he says dryly. “They’ll just compliment you and go on with the day.”
I bite my lip, wondering if I should even bring this up. But since I always manage to say the wrong thing around him, I bring it up anyway.
“Is that why you’re okay with this?” I ask cautiously.
Huxley pushes himself onto his elbows. “What?”
“The fact that my brother is gay and his husband is gay,” I clarify. “Is that why you’re okay with me going to see them?”
“What does that have to do with anything?” If it wasn’t present on his face, the annoyance in his voice would be enough to tell me he’s irritated with me. And he should be. I have no right to be asking a question like this.
But I can’t stop the conversation here.
“You don’t like it when other guys look at me,” I say, much quieter than I wanted to.
Probably because you know you shouldn’t be saying it.
“That’s because I know the other guys and I know what they want from you,” he tells me, just a little less irritated. “Even if you were going to see a sister and she had a husband, I would still be okay with you going. Them being gay has nothing to do with it.”
“Okay, you’re right. I’m sorry.”
I shouldn’t have brought it up. I shouldn’t even be talking to him. I need to pack.
I quickly pull the red dress off the hanger and throw it into my bag. Catching a glimpse of Huxley on my bed, my mind finally registers what he said.
Going to see a sister.
I could. But that would mean taking a detour to LA.
A detour that would just remind me that she’s gone. That she’ll never get married, or have a family, or be someone that I can visit in person. She never got the chance to find someone special in her life. She’ll never have kids or grow old.
I fight back the tears and shove some shirts around. Then again, I’ll probably never have kids. I’ll probably never get married. Who even knows how old I’ll get? My guess is around 25. And I’d be lucky if I make it to 30.
“Valentine.” Huxley’s voice pulls me from my dark thoughts.
My dark thoughts that have been feeling heavier lately. It’s amazing how fast a mind can spiral. One minute, I’m in love with a man who eases my mind and makes me feel safe. The next, I’m remembering that he doesn’t care about me and never will, and my sense of safety will fade away when he does.
Every good thing he’s ever told me will twist and feel like a lie. Maybe it was all a lie. Maybe he never meant a word he said. Maybe he was just telling me words to keep me comfortable so I stayed.
Fuck, at this rate, I don’t even know if I’ll make it to my next birthday. That’s morbid, but I can’t help but think that my mind will finally take me this time.
Huxley wraps his arms around my waist from behind, and I realize then that I haven’t replied to him.
“You okay, Love?”
No. “Yeah. Fine.”
“I’m still going to worry about you,” he says softly, like he’s trying to convince me he’s telling the truth. “But with how much you love your brother, I have no reason to worry about you with him.”
He’s only saying that because he was never going to worry about you at all.
I close my eyes tightly, squeezing out the bad thoughts before turning in his arms, looking up at his suddenly serious face. “But don’t you dare step foot outside in that dress. Because I will fly to New York that second just to cover you up.”
Liar. I smile through the tearing hole in my chest, leaning up to kiss him on the cheek. “I won’t, I promise.”
“Good.” He smiles back with what used to be my smile. My smile that I thought brightened his eyes. My smile that I thought exuded happiness. Now it means nothing to me.
He kisses me on the lips and leaves me to continue packing. I push another shirt aside, but my fucked up mind keeps me from doing anything else.
“Actually, there’s something I’ve been wanting to ask you about that.”
“About what?”
I turn to him, sitting on my bed, waiting. “You just said you would fly to New York to cover me up.”
He nods. “Right.”
“Which means that in the hypothetical of that happening, my brother and brother-in-law would see you. With me.”
Confusion casts over him. It washes over me, too, because why am I even trying to bring this up?
“Yeah?” he drawls.
“What I’m asking is,” Don’t say it, “should I tell them about us?”
Huxley shakes his head too quickly. Too calmly. “I don’t see the point. Why should they be dragged into all of this?”
Drop it.
Of course, I don’t.
“I mean, it’s not like we’re doing this for a week, Huxley,” I remind him. “Graduation is still a good amount of time away.”
He frowns. “So what?” I nearly lose my breath at the sharpness of his voice. “They don’t need to be brought into our business.”
“Okay,” I whisper.
“I just don’t think it makes sense to get their hopes up or have them expect anything from us.”
“No, I understand,” I manage to say with a calm voice that masks how much I want to burst into tears. “I was just wondering.”
He nods, so I turn back to my closet.
You’re a fucking idiot. Gee, thanks for the reminder.
Of course, he wouldn’t want me to talk about us with my brother.
There is no us. Shut. Up. Brain.
But since I’m here, might as well dig a deeper hole, right?
“How long do you think you’ll wait to tell your family when you get into a real relationship?”
I can almost feel him shrugging behind me. “Probably just depends on when I think it’s right for them to know,” he answers. “And, if I think the relationship is actually worth something enough to tell them about it.”
Which means you’re not worth it.
I nod and pull out a shirt. “Makes sense.”
It makes perfect sense. You’d only tell your family about someone who means something to you. Someone that you can see spending your life with. Not someone you’re fucking to take the edge off.
I grip the hanger a little too tightly, hearing a small crack. I let out a deep breath and slip the shirt back into my closet.
“Take that one,” Huxley says before I completely hang the shirt. “You look good in it.”
I pull it back out, but hardly look at it.
How much more of this can I take? How much longer can I keep pretending that I’m okay, that we’re okay?
“I don’t know,” I say softly.
Huxley comes back up behind me, arms tightly around my waist, and his mouth by my ear.
“Take it, Love,” he whispers. “And send me a picture of you in it. Send me a picture of you every day so it feels like you’re still here with me.”
Don’t cry. Don’t fucking cry.
The nail in my chest turns into a screw, twisting and tightening as I force a laugh. “You just want a picture of me in the dress.”
“Guilty.” His lips press to my neck, and that’s all it takes for me to give in to him. I drop the shirt on the ground and turn around in his arms. His eyes widen for a split second before I pull him down into a desperate kiss. He hums in content, and I nearly let my tears fall.
This is all he wants.
And even though his touch kills me, it’s also the only thing that brings me back to life.
So I let him kiss me.
But I also let him hurt me just the same.