I hated they made her feel like being good, being pure in her truest form, was a bad thing. “Those girls have always been bad for you. It shouldn’t matter what they think. We’ve been over this.”
“And we’ll keep going over it. You’ll tell me that, my therapist will tell me that, Lawrence will tell me—” She took a deep breath and shook her head. “It doesn’t matter how many times I hear it, Theo. My brain is wired to care, just like it’s wired to follow the rules like I was always taught. How hypocritical is that? It wasn’t like my father could do the same. Who knows what Mom knew about? Probably everything.”
Brows drawing up over the sudden change in conversation, I’d watched her unload years of pent up frustration that she’d never once talked about. It didn’t matter how many times I asked her if she was okay, if she wanted to talk about her parents, she refused. I only hoped she was at least talking to her therapist about it, but I never asked because the sessions were between them. “You’re not your parents, but that doesn’t mean you can’t look up to them and their values.”
She snorted.
I corrected myself. “The values they taught you, that is. We both know they weren’t bad people. Your father just got in too deep with the wrong people, but he wanted to make it right. That counts for something, doesn’t it?”
Nothing.
“They loved you.”
Silence.
I did what I told myself not to. I grabbed her arm gently and slid her body over to me, ignoring the surprised gasp when I positioned her on her side so her head was on my thigh using it as a pillow. Brushing loose strands of hair out of her face, I looked down at the rest that billowed over my lap and couch. “I don’t expect you to forgive him, and neither does the world.”
It was a moment before she said, “I’m angry, Theo. So angry. I feel like I don’t have a right to because…”
Because they were her parents.
I kept combing my fingers through her hair until her body eased. She always loved this when her mother did it.
Telling her she had every right to be angry wouldn’t have made a difference. She’d feel bad about feeling any negative way no matter what I, or anybody else, told her. She’d bottle it up until she burst—until she broke down and shattered for the world to see. And the cruel world we lived in was waiting for it to happen. I knew it, she knew it, and that was why she tried to fight it. But fighting didn’t do a lick of good when she didn’t find a reason to.
So, my hands faltered behind her ear where I brushed more strands. “Do it for me, Della. If nobody else, remember that I was always here rooting for you. All I want is for you to fight. Can you do that?”
The quiet I was given in return sliced through me thick and deep and I wasn’t sure I’d get a response as the minutes passed. It was the deep sigh, the relenting exhale, that gave me hope that she’d do as I asked. It wasn’t because she felt she owed me for the years I’d helped raise her, dedicated to her when she needed me most. It was the unspeakable understanding we had. The one we’d always had that eased her parents knowing I was there for her.
I just needed her to be there for herself, never letting the world beat her down like it so often wanted.
“Sometimes I wish that night between us never happened, because it wouldn’t hurt so bad knowing that there are limits to this,” she whispered, catching me off guard. My hand stopped moving over her scalp completely, stilling as she added, “But maybe it’s better that way. How it ended. We ended.”
How it ended.
She didn’t know the truth about that night though. I’d been too drunk, barely remembering half of what I’d done. Waking up in bed next to her and being pissed off over the prior night’s transgressions hadn’t been the reason I’d stormed out after telling her it was a mistake.
It was knowing that, if something happened between us, I wanted to absorb every single moment. How she panted. If she yelled. The way her nails dug into my flesh as she begged for more. I wanted to know every freckle on her body, memorize her taste, and ink the sounds she made when she said my name into my skin.
I wanted it all
But I didn’t want it like that, with me fucking drunk and only remembering bits and pieces. Neither of us deserved that, especially not her.
“That’s where you’re wrong, Della.” The words were heavy between us when I paused, her body tensing where it laid beside me. “It didn’t end. That’s the fucking problem.”
“I don’t see the problem in that at all.”
I chuckled. “I’m sure you wouldn’t.”
A long moment passed between us before, “Theo?”
I hummed out a reply.
When she didn’t say anything, I looked down to see her eyes had closed. The soft snores came shortly after, and I wondered what she was planning to say.
Maybe it was better not to know.
Chapter Eight
Della
Deep breath in. Deep breath out. Bending as I stretched into downward dog, I listened to the instructor call out another vinyasa that would normally be easy for me if I’d kept up on my regular routines. I’d slacked off on just about everything having to do with exercise because I hated how people looked at me, waiting for me to relapse as if running a mile or two would suddenly lead to me sticking a finger down my throat as soon as I got home.
Forcing the thought away, I wobbled into the next position and watched the bare feet of the older woman who taught the class come
