Page 79 of Grave Misgivings
I shake my head, and that’s when I see them. Katy and Zeb.
“I can’t do this with you, mom, I just can’t.”
Zeb catches my gaze, and I focus on walking toward him. One step, two step, three.
Katy looks up at me, her eyebrows furrowed. “Geo, what?—”
“Take me home, please,” I say, feeling the cyclone of guilt and shame starting to build. I have to focus on my breathing, focus on my nails digging into my skin.
Zeb’s expression falls, and he reaches out for my arm. Katy’s gaze falls to the spot where he touches me, but I don’t have the guts to shake him off. His touch is warm, soothing, and I want nothing more than to fall into him.
“What happened?” she asks calmly.
“Mom happened,” I reply as I bite my lip.
Katy sighs. “I’ll talk to her.”
“Come on.” Zeb tugs my elbow.
Katy takes two steps, then turns around, staring at the both of us, then she shifts her gaze to Zeb. “Be careful, Z,” she says, then turns around and heads toward our mother.
“What was that about?” I ask.
He slides his hand around my waist, settling his palm at the small of my back. “Nothing,” he says, his voice faraway.
When we get to the car, I let go. I take my hat off, running my hands through my hair as he turns the car on. The tears come faster than they ever have before.
“She doesn’t fucking get it,” I say, shaking my head. “I spent twenty-nine years of my life being perfect. Poised, pure, and perfect. I sold records without ever having to show my fucking skin, but I was never allowed to be a fucking person!” I growl.
Zeb drives, sliding his hand over my knee, using the other to palm the steering wheel. “I know,” he replies softly.
“My last two albums flopped miserably. Not because they weren’t any good, because they were, but because—” I look out the window, the truth lodged in my throat. “I’m not sexy enough,” I say, shaking my head.
“Are you fucking crazy?” Zeb says, surprise evident in his tone.
I turn to him, imploring him with my quickly blurring gaze. “Kinda hard to be sexy when you’re a fucking forty-year-old virgin.” I scoff. “Who’s going to buy my sexy ass songs about fucking when I haven’t fucked anyone?” I bite the words with venom, sinking into my seat. “God, you must think I’m an idiot,” I say harshly.
Zeb’s voice is smooth, comforting. “I don’t think that at all, Geo.”
I let out a frustrated sigh, looking to the bright blue sky.
God, give me strength to make it through this fucking week.
“Sorry, I shouldn’t be unloading my defective sex shit and my mommy issues on you.” I breathe deep. “Or my dying career shit.” I rub my eyes. “I’m a fucking mess.”
“No, Geo. You’re not.” His voice is soft, even. Warm and safe. “You are not defective,” he says, squeezing my knee.
“I didn’t even start masturbating until I was thirty, Zeb. And half the time, I couldn’t even come because of all the fucking guilt. So, trust me, I am defective.”
He’s quiet for a moment as we pull up to his house, and then he shuts the car off. Neither of us move.
“Look at me,” he says.
I run my hands over my face.
“Look at me, Geo.”
I remove my hands, looking at his bright eyes. It’s like seeing the sun.
