Page 18 of Give Me Perfect Love

But I have Jace.

I can’t leave my kid brother with these two.

“You need to watch your mouth,” Dad says after looking around uneasily at the audience we now have.

I don’t say anything else, but I feel it when Jace touches my knee for only a moment.

We’re family, not these sorry shits across from us.

I twist my hands on the steering wheel before rubbing my shadow of a beard and sucking my teeth. The past isn’t easy to forget no matter how hard I try. I’ve always been torn when it comes to my mom and dad. I’ve low-key hated them, while at the same time loved them unconditionally.

Mom is still in the hospital. She’s still in a coma, and somewhere deep down, I’m glad I don’t have to worry about her on the streets or trying to use and going through that pain again.

She may die in that hospital bed and it may tear me up inside, but there isn’t a damn thing I can do to help her this time. She’s out of my hands now.

A white-blue blend of snow and ice is falling around me, making the road slick, but the afternoon sun peeks through the silver-lined clouds, showing off a kaleidoscope of dusty-blond rays.

I arrived here almost an hour ago. The damn front desk won’t tell me what room Kathrine is in, so I figured I’d sit and wait for her to come back, but there’s been no sign. I’m going crazy in this fucking dump of a place.

Why is she here?

What would make her stay in this town?

Why won’t she answer her fucking phone?

I look down at the black velvet box. I was going to give this to her, but my mom decided an overdose would be more entertaining. It’s a set of keys on a dirt bike keychain so she’ll always think of me.

I know she isn’t ready to move in, but I want her to know my doors are always open and the option will always be on the table. As far as I’m concerned, they’re her places, too.

Jesus Christ, I’ve acted like a fool. Guilt and sick worry tangle inside my chest and I exhale and shut my eyes as I lean my head back.

Where the fuck is she?

ChapterFive

Kathrine

My lungs plead for air as I drive away from that house and the horrible woman standing outside of it.

I try to oblige, but the tears keep coming and I can’t control them. My mind is a web of pain and emotion. The memories rush in like a tsunami, knocking me on my ass and drowning me in unadulterated anguish.

I can’t shut it off.

I haven’t thought about everything that happened here in such a long time. I’ve placed it in thedon’t think aboutfolder and let it collect dust in the back of my filing cabinet.

“God, make it stop,” I say, hitting my hand on the wheel before pressing it to my forehead, crying profusely. Snot runs down my face and my vision is hazy. The snow feathers to the road and on my car. I flip my windshield wipers on and roll my window down, needing to feel the cold air against my heated face.

My stomach churns, and my skin crawls. The house is no longer in my rearview mirror, and that road is no longer under my tires.

I turn into the only bar in town and then park the car.

I need it to stop.

I need something to numb the pain and make my mind shut off. I take in a deep breath and flip my sun visor down. I’m a fucking wreck, but who gives a shit. I reach over and open the glove compartment. Grabbing a tissue, I blow my nose and wipe my face.

This disaster needs a drink.

The bar isn’t crowded when I walk in, but it’s not empty either. People play pool and someone is over by the jukebox slipping their coins in.

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