Page 90 of Diem

“Sweetheart?” Diem says and I drop my fork before pushing back from the table and stalking from the room.

Through the house I go, passing rooms straight out of a fashion magazine before I eventually stop and peer into a room with a billiard table. Another deluge of memories cascade through me and after closing the door, I stalk inside, running my hands over the scratchy felt table, and rolling a ball across the expanse.

The black eight ball tumbles into the hole at the far end and I smile wretchedly, Diem’s dark eyes the last time we played a game rolling through me. We were maybe fourteen years old. Even then, he was a competitive little shit but to my delight, he always let me win.

I suspect he thought he was getting away with it but by that time, I studied him so closely, there’s no way I would have missed even the slightest change in expression, much less overlook his love of the game.

Diem walked around the table and pushed the stick into my hands. “Just aim for the black ball, Mae. No biggie.”

I missed the first time, and he moved around the table with an intensity behind his gaze that I admired. Of course, he missed and turned to me. My stomach whooshed painfully, and I tried so very hard to make the shot, missing again. On the next round, after he purposely missed the ball, he stepped behind me and said, “Like this.”

I’ll never forget his arms wrapped around my waist as he guided me to the ball and whispered in my ear. Back then, my feelings were innocent compared to now but I cherish it nonetheless because it was one of the last times he bothered to pay attention at all. After that is when our little family fell apart, except the only one left behind was me.

Pushing the past away, where it belongs, I rub my aching chest and sit on the stool situated against the wall. This is a mess. While I know intellectually this is all a facade for god knows what, I want it to be real—badly. I crave the closeness with him, for I’ve felt so empty for so long now.

Slumping, I drop my head into my folded arms.

I should go, but I’m afraid. I want to stay, but I’m terrified. Nothing makes sense. With the familiar itchy feeling of hurt barreling through me, I knock my head on the table.

The wretched need to numb myself with the sharp edge of a razor rises and I sigh. I can’t continue to drown my emotional pain. It’s time I let go of those behaviors, but I don’t know how. Every time I think I might be able to withstand the ache, another fucking betrayal batters at my psyche.

It’s enough. Dammit.

∞∞∞

After a while, I grow tired of my grim thoughts and make my way back to Diem’s room. Searching out my phone, I drop wearily to my ass on the floor, and open the damn thing to multiple text messages waiting for me.

Penny: I need to talk to you

Dad: Where are you?

Laughing shakily, I rub my aching forehead. How much can I take? Before I lose my fucking mind?

“You’re not going to lose your mind,” Diem says gruffly behind me. “What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

Tears fill my eyes, and he pulls me into his arms. Sobbing, I bury my head in his chest and allow the hysteria punching at my soul free. All the while, he rocks me gently and by the time I’m done sniffling against his wet shirt, I fear I’m snotty and gross.

He doesn’t seem to mind as he pulls back and brushes a hair out of my face. With a wobbly smile, I relax when he wraps me up again. I should be stepping away, because I know betrayal is surely just around the corner and it will be that much harder. But I don’t because I selfishly want the comfort.

“What happened?”

Shit. The last time we talked about this, we practically came to blows. Fuck I don’t know, but I need help and trying to figure this out on my own is getting me nowhere. Besides every step I take leads me back here, I might as well take advantage of it.

“Diem?”

“Yeah?”

“My dad…”

I don’t mention Frank because I don’t know what’s true anymore nor how Diem might react after the last time. There’s no love lost between them as far as I know but does Diem know about the article and pictures under his bed?

Clearly his dad is not a nice dude.

“This again,” he says, his hands spasming against my back.

“Yes, this.” I wave my arm, my heart sinking when he growls and stalks away.

“Mae, your dad is a skeevy fucker but…”

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