Page 255 of Just for the Cameras
Tears fill my eyes.
The need to hit something pushes through me.
The urge to scream over the situation rises to the tip of my tongue,but I hold back, not wanting to wake or disturb him. Instead, I let my tears flow down my cheeks as I use his body wash to clean the day off me.
After I dry off, I slip on one of his T-shirts and a pair of spandex shorts I’ve kept here. I brush my teeth and head back downstairs, where I find him still sleeping. I want to climb on top of him, curl into his side, sleep next to him, and let all the worry drain away, but I also don’t know how he’ll receive me. Instead, I grab another blanket and a throw pillow, and I curl up on one of the chairs.
As I lie there, my eyes on him the entire time, my heart aches thinking about the pain he’s feeling, and how unfair his life has been.His dad leaked the news about how our relationship started.What sort of person does that to their own son? How can a man so despise his flesh and blood that he can hurt him with such brutality?
I refuse to contribute to that. I know he loves me. I felt it the other night after we visited his mom. I know that I make a difference in his life, that he not only wants me but needs me.
And it’s the same with me. He’s changed so much in my life, opening my eyes to what love really is, this all-encompassing feeling of happiness where the person holding your hand is your moon and stars, and you go to sleep at night dreaming about them, only to wake up the following morning and crave them.
He’s opened me up to a type of passion I had no idea existed, but now that I’ve had a taste of it, I refuse to let it go.
He can push.
He can hurt me.
But I know none of it’s true because I know the way he looks at me, kisses me, loves on me. We have that forever kind of connection that you only find once in a lifetime, and I refuse to let it go despite all the roadblocks.
Nope, I’m going to fight for us, even if it kills me.
CHAPTER 46
GRAYDON
Fuck…me.
My head pounds with regrets.
My stomach rolls with bad habits.
And my body aches with horrible decisions as my eyes peel open, the sun blaring through the windows of my living room like a death ray, attempting to crack my skull in half.
“Fuck,” I grumble as I realize I’m on the couch, the cushions doing absolutely nothing to support my battered back. I carefully push myself up and run my hand over my eyes as I attempt to find some clarity.
I blow out a heavy breath and observe the scene.
There’s a glass of water on the coffee table, untouched.
A blanket at my feet.
And…
Shit.
Curled up on one of the chairs next to the couch is Maple, her head resting on a throw pillow and a blanket pulled up around her chin. Yesterday’s events come barreling to the forefront of my mind as I take in her peaceful face, slumbering in what seems to be a very uncomfortable position.
Hatred for myself billows in the pit of my stomach all over again because I came to the realization yesterday that I’m the problem. I’m very much the problem. As much as it pains me to admit it, Slutty Little Glasses was right—I’m a burden for her. I’m making her life harder.
This entire situation could get her fired from a job she loves.
And in the long run, I’m hurting her.
Destroying the life that she so perfectly crafted for herself.
All for what? To make myself feel better?
