Beg, Borrow, or Steal (When in Rome, #3)

by Sarah Adams

As all good and unbearable perfectionists know, if you want something done right, you mostly have to do it yourself.

My heart does that thing where it hurts, and hurts, and hurts and I can’t stop it. The feeling scares me.

It’s a struggle not to laugh. I enjoy our fights more than any emotionally healthy person should. They don’t always make sense. They’re a little unhinged.

And when she found me watching, she told me to find someone someday who will hug me when I’m sad and then help me look on the bright side of things when all I can see is the dark.

An angry little fireball. That’s what Emily is ninety percent of the time. Why the hell do I enjoy stepping right in her path so much?

I’m afraid to. He’ll see how messy it is. How dark in some corners. Sometimes it even scares me in here. When I’m not moving, when I’m not busy, when I’m not needed, it’s so, so lonely.

Now I just stuff my fear and my hurt and my sadness in my Treasure Chest of Doom and hope that’ll be enough to pretend it doesn’t exist.

Jokes, jokes, jokes. They’re what keep my Treasure Chest of Doom locked.

“Now…I need to be okay with being alone. Because everyone moves on eventually. But not me…I’ll always be right here where they left me.”

The worst part is, I didn’t even realize until just now that I’ve been chasing and protecting a safety that I outgrew a long time ago.

“You are not alone, Emily. I would walk through my worst memories to get to you every single time.”