Page 156 of Forbidden You

Kayla.

Not three words I ever want to see in that order again.

I rub my face, while slowly all my senses seem to come alive, putting me in anguish. My throat is as dry as sandpaper, and the taste of my bile still sits on my tongue, making my stomach somersault. But in a way, I welcome the pain, reminding me my senses are still alive.

I’m not dead.

“Morning, sunshine.”

And now I wish I was.Fuck.

With heavy lids, I lock eyes with my uncle, then close them in hopes that he won’t be here when I open them again.

“Not going to work, buddy.”

Dammit.

“What are you doing?” The stern look on my uncle’s face makes it obvious he’s not talking about my current state. He doesn’t mean,why the fuck are you hangover like you’re still in college?No, he means,what the fuck are you doing with your life?

“I don’t know.” It’s the most honest I’ve been in a while because I truly don’t know. I have no clue what the hell I’m doing, and I hate that feeling. I hate not being in control. Since my father was admitted to Peartree Park, I’ve been wondering if this is how he felt with my mother.

Powerless.

Hopeless.

Helpless.

In the last year, I’ve seen my father wither away, slowly being dragged out of his soul until there was nothing left but bones and skin.

“Wanna tell me why you’re trying to drink yourself to death?”

Uncle Lucas rubs his beard, leaning into the rocking chair of the corner of the room. He looks like the epitome of a lumberjack in his plaid shirt, with one of his boots resting on his knee.

“Because it’s easy?” I pull a face, trying to soften him up a little, but it does jack shit.

“What the fuck happened to my nephew? You know, the one who’s had his ducks in a row since he was fifteen. The one who is the CEO of a multi-million-dollar company. The one who wouldn’t treat a girl like shit.”

Dead.He’s dead.

“I don’t know. Maybe he’s on vacation.”

“It’s not funny, Bodi.” The disappointment in his tone slices through me, lifting all the hairs on my body. “Your father would be turning around in his grave right now.”

“Fuck!” I huff, lifting my body up to settle against the headboard. “Low blow, man.”

He shrugs. Like an asshole. “If it wakes you up.”

His dark green eyes stay fixed on me.

I square my shoulders, trying to hold my own against him for as much as you can while sitting in a damn bed. I know my rigid stance is pulling it off, but I’m squirming on the inside, knowing I won’t win the staring game from my uncle.

He’s always the one who’s been picking up wherever my father left off, and both of them are my biggest example. They represent the type of man I want to be. One loving and caring to a fault, the other fair and just without a filter. I like to believe I’m somewhere in the middle, a product of both of them, combined with the soft touch of my mother, but deep down, it feels like one big lie.

Neither of these men would treat a woman the way I treated Kayla.

I wonder how my father did it. How he loved my mother endlessly, even though he knew she was slipping away more and more every day. How can you give your entire being for something that’s so evidently not eternal.

I promised myself that wouldn’t happen to me, that I wouldn’t let myself fade over a woman, but have a feeling I’ll see exactly that when I find my strength to find a mirror. I’m trying to fade her memory, but all I’m fading is me.

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