DECEIT (B723) by Hazel Grace (ebook reader for surface pro .TXT) 📕

With me, she was safe. She may not have been given what she needed, but, as I’ve said, in time, I would have. I just needed that.

Time.

Now, it doesn’t matter. I can’t change it. I can’t harp on the fact that my girl will never know how much I loved her.

She’ll never know.

And if she does, she’s in the ground. She can’t talk back to me.

At Emmy’s funeral, Alexander was not his usual and pleasant self. I realize that we all handle grief differently, but that man wore a scowl that almost matched mine.

Marty clued me in that Mills, and he had an argument outside, but he didn’t know what for. I didn’t ask and seek the reason. Mills is probably losing his entire shit, too, because that was his best friend.

Meanwhile, I’m failing and murdering every relationship I’ve ever had.

I’m pushing everyone away.

Scarlett doesn’t try reasoning or consoling me anymore. It’s a lost cause. Nothing that leaves her lips will ever make this okay.

“Nothing right now,” Kyson conveys to my brother, giving him a pat on the back of his shoulder. “Just time.”

I scoff inwardly.

Time will do nothing but make it worse. I’ll recall how many years have passed and how each day fucking blows. That it’s just another increased measurement of not being with her.

That I neglected and should’ve fought harder to keep her where she belonged.

Hardy finally leaves the room, probably feeling the same sort of hopelessness of setting shit right. The door softly clicks behind him while I remain on the cold hardwoods with defeat tightly wrapped around me.

“You’re getting louder.” My best friend sits in front of me, crossing his legs Indian style, and pulls out a pack of Marlboros.

He’d know because he’s been babysitting me for the last two weeks. He won’t leave. I can’t convince him that I’m just grieving, and it’s temporary because it’s not.

I’ll live with this for the rest of my life.

I’ve had a funny feeling that his existence in my space is because my sister called him. Not only ratting me out but also worried about my not wanting to consume anything but another fifth of whiskey.

I don’t come home sometimes.

I’ve dropped every red flag there is to drop right in her lap, and it has gotten me the redhead in front of me now.

Kyson hands me over a cigarette then flicks his Zippo to light the end for me. “You wanna come with me tomorrow?”

“No.” I don’t even know what tomorrow is, but the answer is still no.

“Her kids are getting out of the hospital.” My eyes slice up to him while my stomach immediately drops into the depths of some hollowed-out place with no sustenances. “It’s time to say goodbye, Bish.”

Red fury courses through my veins as I glare at the motherfucker who won’t let me be. Who’s watched me go from hell and back while at my side.

“There never was one,” I sneer before drawing a long hit off my smoke. “And no…I don’t want to.”

“You sure?” Kyson flicks his Zippo again and lights his own end of his fag. “There’s no takebacks after this.”

I bow my head over my bent legs and strive to listen to what he’s saying, except I’ve made up my mind. The more I harp on Emmy, the worse I’m going to get. She’s the only thing I liked about me, and now that’s gone.

“Positive.”

Kyson doesn’t press any further, taking another hit of his own smoke, and just sits with me on the floor.

Just like when we were kids.

This isn’t easy for him either. Shit, nothing really has been and you’d think we’d be used to it by now.

And while I struggle, he handles it like a damn king and I envy him.

Not for his light red hair that women seem to dig or the patience of a saint mixed with the hard truth he speaks but because he’s powerful. He can deal and move. He is able to live on and press through trials and tribulations.

I stab the shit to death, and it’s not even the main problem.

It’s that I’ll never get over this.

Her.

Us.

What we had and what I’ve imagined for our future.

It’s dead.

And so am I.

We finish our cigarettes, and I try to go back to bed afterward but fail. I imagine both of Emmy’s kids being brought up without the love and affection she would’ve given them. How they would be deprived of who she is and never truly know her.

Everyone should know someone like Emmy. Someone who glows in the dark during the bleakest of times. A person who demands to make you aware that they care.

That you’re loved.

That you’re not alone.

Maybe one day, when they’re old enough, I can tell them that I knew her. I can describe the kind of person she was and that they care that inside them.

From afar, I can always look out for them and be somewhat of a guardian angel if they ever get into trouble.

I can’t protect Emmy anymore, but I can safeguard the pieces of her that are left behind.

The remnants of my heart.

“Dude, Mills…do not tell me you kidnapped those babies?”

Kyson and I stand grounded near Mills’s door, staring at him with a blue towel over one shoulder and a baby laid upon it while he pats its back.

Gazing around his bachelor pad, I find two car seats, two bags, two high chairs near the dining room table, and various little jungle gym-looking things on the floor.

Kyson slowly steps forward, and I latch my focus back to Mills, his eyes wide in surprise that we just waltzed into his place.

And for good reason.

When Ky and I went to the hospital to see the babies, one of the nurses said that they had been discharged. Kyson was livid, my heart and stomach dropped out of my ass, and we ended up here to tell our fellow brother.

I couldn’t not say goodbye or see those kids. I’m already living with enough contrition to last me ten lifetimes.

However,