Page 62 of A Photo Finish
Golddigger85:Listen, I think you’re probably angry with me. I’m sorry if I hurt you. That was never my intention. I just . . . I’m complicated. It’s a long story. One I’d like to tell you if you come back.
My misery grows with every passing day that she doesn’t respond. I feel pathetic continuing to message her. But I can’t stop. Talking to Pretty_in_Purple has become part of who I am, a thread leading me back to the man I want to be. A thread I decide I will not let go of. I’ll keep going even if she’s not here to partake.
Golddigger85:I think I’m just going to keep writing to you, even if you never come back. I need this.
After all, I am exceptional at avoiding reality.
* * *
I’ve heldViolet in my arms all night long. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to know that her telling meit’s finemeans that it’s not fine at all. But I keep holding her anyway.
I’ve barely slept. I’m exhausted, but also buzzing. Kissing Violet last night was fuckingeverything. It really was perfect. Until she freaked out and shut it down. The way she asked me not to ruin it. It’s like she already knows I ruin everything.
And then holding her? Her warm body pressed into mine? It was like clinging onto a teddy bear for comfort. But I’ve never wanted to fuck a teddy bear.
I’m also freezing, but I couldn’t care less, so long as she’s warm. She fell asleep quickly, quietly, lulled into a dream world where soft little sighs slipped past her lips, where she snuggled in closer and turned into my chest.
It was heaven. Just holding someone—someone who knowseverythingand doesn’t look at me with disgust.I haven’t felt that level of relaxation in years. In the middle of a forest, in a shitty little shelter, I’m the most relaxed I’ve been in years. All because Violet is here in my arms.
Yeah, I’m royally fucked. Because not only do I want to rip all her clothes off and use her body in every way imaginable, I want to cook her breakfast after, make sure she takes her vitamins and works out. I want to take care of her body once I’m finished desecrating it.
What’s worse, I want to talk to her. In the dark, in the quiet, I want to let it all out. My dad, my mom, my time overseas. All those stories bubble barely controlled beneath the surface. When that pin on my leg snapped, so did the reservoir of everything I’ve held in for so long. It came surging up like water out of a dam, and now I’m struggling to keep it in.
Trixie is going to be obnoxiously pleased.
I look down at her now, snoring softly, snuggled into my chest with one leg slung over mine. The warm drops of morning light filter through the porous roof of the shelter, speckling her cheeks and hair. Her long lashes cast a shadow, and her lips are a pale shade of pink, the same color as her pert nipples. Something I’ll never forget. Violet hasperfecttits.
She looks small and weak, but if I’ve learned anything about Violet in the last month, it’s that she’s strong. So damn strong.
I knew she’d yanked her independence away from her family and set out alone, determined to be her own woman. I just didn’t realize how thoroughly she’d succeeded. How intensely herself she’d become. Her confidence isn’t loud or brazen, it’s subtle and natural. Intrinsic almost in how well it suits her. She isn’t hard or crass; she’s just steadfast.
When our online conversation wasn’t serving her anymore, she was done. I’d spent a year desperately hoping she’d log in and see my last messages. Hell, I still have our chat open on my computer and check it daily. If she would just log back in, she’d know I wasn’t done with her. She’d know what I haven’t been able to say out loud.
I admired that about her. Envied it. When life didn’t go my way, I retreated, but Violet? She kept on trudging. With a smile. Eternal sunshine.
Her lashes flutter before her lids pop open. She looks around the shelter. Mostly she gets an eyeful of my chest as the gears in her head spin. When her chin turns up to look at my face, she startles. Obviously, she hadn’t planned on me being awake.
“How long have you been up for?”
“A while,” I lie. “Hard to sleep with your snoring.”
Her face flushes pink as she moves away from my chest. I want to pull her close again, but I don’t. I’m not sure how I’m supposed to act this morning.
“I was not.” She looks horrified.
“You were.”
She scrubs her face with her hands as if doing so will make her cheeks less red.
“It was more like . . . purring. Like a kitten,” I continue.
“Oh, god.”
“Hey. I’m missing a leg, and you snore like a kitten. It’s all good.”
Her hands shoot down off her face so fast I can’t even react to her pointy little finger jabbing my chest. “Missing a leg isn’t embarrassing!” She just went from embarrassed to all fired up in under one second.
I hold my hands up in defeat and roll away from her. “You’re right. The only embarrassing thing here right now is your breath.”
