Unloved (The Unlucky Ones #2)

by Marley Valentine

There is beauty in being bruised. There is beauty in being brave. There is beauty in being. MARLEY VALENTINE

I’d gotten too comfortable and content; two things I knew better than to let happen. Because people lie and people leave. People always leave. People always leave me.

I’m sorry too, because he is the first person I opened up my heart to, and with the way I feel now, he’ll be the last.

I need to get to him. I need to see what’s wrong. I need to wake him up. I need to touch him.

I should’ve touched him. Not just today, but every day. I should’ve told him how I feel. I should’ve. I should’ve. I should’ve.

He’d tell you he’s giving me space after knowing how much he hurt me by leaving, and I would say he just flat out abandoned me. Potato, potahto.

He is the All-American boy, with the bright eyes and carefree smile that he saves for me.

We’ve been best friends since our first day of college, and I think I was already in love with him on the second.

Nobody loves like Clem loves. Her loyalty has no bounds,

He’s the strength I need.

I lost the right to complain about all the ways drugs had ruined and controlled my life, when every moment leading up to this point has been a choice. The wrong choice.

Do I believe being sober will make you happier? Controversial take? No, I don’t. But do I believe that your addiction is robbing you of all the ways you could be happy? Absolutely.”

Addiction is a disease. I’m treating it. One Mississippi. Two Mississippi. Three Mississippi. I can do this. I will fucking do this.

I am Samuel Hart, in love with his best friend, living in denial and so fucking full of regret.

I didn’t know I was capable of falling for a guy, and I didn’t know I could fall so fast.

I’m trying to keep my head above water, but some days it feels like I’ll forever be treading, trying to catch my breath and hold on, and failing.

I learn two things in that moment. One, that Arlo was a foster kid, with a found family and a support system. Two, I’m so incredibly jealous.

They are the complete opposite of one another—Samuel like the sun and Rhys reminding me of the moon. They’re night and day.

I thought it would be something that would bother me, but I’m so stupidly in love with Samuel that an excuse to stare at him is more like a prize than a problem.

On one hand, hope keeps you going, but on the other, nothing hurts more than the loss of it.

He sure is pretty to look at.

It never ceases to amaze me how easy it is for life to pick right back up after tragedy. Your heart could break. Your life could change. Your dad could die. And yet everything just keeps on going.

I want to kiss him. I want to cradle his face in my hands and finally press my lips to his. I want to finally tell him how I feel about him, without saying anything at all.

He’s a walking oxymoron—outwardly living one life while internally lying about the other.

Change is the pinnacle of my fear, my truth, and my pain, but I also know that with change there is hope.

The change in him is like watching the formation of a rainbow after a storm.

I felt like I was forever picking myself up off the ground, trying hard to remain positive, but why does one person have to try so hard?

If there was any more proof I needed that I was brought into this world unloved and uncared for, this is it.

Rhys doubles over, laughing at me. He’s breathtaking when he smiles, and the ability to bear witness to it is the only thing that soothes the sting of knowing I’ll never know what his laugh sounds like.

He is beautiful, in all the ways I never knew a man could be. Perfectly shaped lips, defined cheekbones, and eyes that have lived a thousand lives. Soulful eyes that I want on me in this lifetime.

“I love that only you say my name that way,” I say into the speaker. “Like I’m yours.”

I could watch them together for a lifetime and never tire of the sight of it.

Jesus fucking Christ. Tell me, Lennox, how was it? Sticky and filthy, and yet still so beautiful.

I hate being away from them. An hour, a day, a week, it all feels the same. It all feels too long.

For the first time in the longest time, my reality is better than anything any dream could muster.

Where Lennox’s mouth gave, Samuel’s mouth takes, and I will forever be content to be whatever they need me to be.

“Tell me what you want,” he murmurs. “I can touch you. I can suck you. I can fuck you too.”

Samuel isn’t the protective bodyguard in the bedroom; he listens to each and every one of Lennox’s instructions like a good fucking boy.

I’m exactly where I want to be. With them both, I’m always exactly where I want to be.

But we often forget that as we trudge through our everyday struggles, that our experiences are not solitary or unique. Somewhere else in the world, someone else had that exact same thought, cried for that exact same reason, and wanted to give up on life the same number of times as you.

Kissing has never felt so good. I could sit here with Lennox in my lap, my mouth on his, and be wholeheartedly content for the rest of my days.

This isn’t like our first kiss. This is clarity, certainty, and confidence. This is I’m yours and you are mine. This is I’m sorry I took so long and never again.

I need that. I need people who have already been in my shoes, people who can reassure me that yes, there are days when it will be hard, but there are days when it will be better.

“We’re yours,” I tell him as my body tenses in anticipation of my release. “In all the ways you want us, we’re yours.”

“Say it again,” he whispers. “We’re yours.”

I can’t do this anymore. I can’t pretend to be something I’m not. I will never be whole. I will never be healed. I’m just Rhys the addict. I’ll never be more, and I’ll always be less.

We can’t keep our hands off each other, because Samuel’s hands know what mine do. They know how Rhys feels. They know how he loves to be touched. They know what it’s like to hold him. These fingers have felt the flutter of his pulse. And his heart has beat steadily under my palm. None of that could be forgotten.

Samuel: I don’t want to lose him. Samuel: I don’t want to lose either of you. Samuel: Ever.

He’s all anger and hurt, desperation and fear, and I just want to be exactly what he needs. I’ll take it all and give him all the love back. Angry love. Hurt love. Desperate love. Scared love. So much scared love, because that’s what we are. The three of us. Scared. So fucking scared.

“I love you, Frankie,” I say to my brother. “You are the only thing our parents did right by me.”