Page 49 of When We Breathe
Because they’re my favorite.
There’s another window fan for the opposite wall, and then, when I open the last box, I can’t stop the tears that fall.
Because it’s a picture frame. With a photo of the three of us out on the boat in it.
Which means this wasn’t ordered from Amazon and delivered by UPS.
They hired Jake Wild to bring me all of this stuff so I could still have my space, but they could also take care of me.
“Dammit.” I shake my head and reach for my phone, which I left on the table by the door all night, and turn it on.
I’m not surprised to find ten missed texts and two calls.
The calls were from Dani, and eight of the texts were either Dani, Charlie, or Billie.
But the other two texts were my guys in our group chat.
Gabe: You’d better be eating, Shorty. Just let me know if you want me to swing by the store or order takeout for you. *heart*
“Fucking hell.” I’m sobbing now and sniff loudly, wiping the water off my cheeks. I have to wait a second to read Adam’s text because it’s too blurry.
Finally, I take a breath and look down at the screen.
Adam: I miss you, Princess.
As I’m sitting here looking at the screen, another text comes in from Adam, and it’s a selfie of the two of them, both looking somber into the lens.
Is this manipulation? Or do they really just miss me?
Do I care?
I make the photo bigger and take in every bit of them, wishing I could hug them. Apologize. Tell them that I love them.
God, I want to tell them that I love them.
“Why am I so broken?” I yell into the empty apartment.
No answer comes.
After putting the fans in the windows and the small one on the bedside table with the cool mist spraying on me, I went back to bed and slept all freaking night. I slepthard.
And I had fucking nightmares.
It’s not unusual for me to have bad dreams. I don’t dream well. I don’t think I’ve ever had a dream that wasn’t fucked up in so many ways.
There are degrees to the horror of what goes through my mind at night.
And last night was the worst of them. I’ve had it often, and it never changes.
My father.
My sisters, screaming for help, locked on the other side of a door.
The door giving way, and finding all three of them torn apart by the wolf standing in the middle of the room. Bloody teeth, angry eyes.
And my father, laughing. Laughing so hard, he’s doubled over, taking great joy in what he’s orchestrated.
“I’m so tired of being afraid of you.”
