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I am just a girl, after all, and he is, for lack of a better description, the kind of attractive that renders a girl stupid.
Sometimes, though, it only makes me more sad because it reminds me that she doesn’t exist anymore. That she hasn’t for a while. That my mother can’t hear my voice, and I can’t quite remember the sound of hers.
Ouch this hit alittle close to home :(
That that same mouth murmurs, “I got you, honey,” and that’s what breaks me. And God, do I break.
“You’ve got that look on your face,” his momma accuses suspiciously during one of their weekly calls. “Who is she?”
“You don’t go back there. If he calls you, you call me. Anything happens, you call me. Don’t care when, don’t care where. Call me.”
She doesn’t yell, but if not for the sleeping baby on her chest, he’s pretty sure she would be screaming. “She has no idea what she deserves,” she says, calm but fierce, small but terrifying. “But it’s not this half-assed bullshit. Man up or fuck off.”
“Then gimme a fuckin’ kiss, honey,” the big guy demands, accent thick and tone leaving no room for arguments. “Been fuckin’ dyin’ all day.”
A hand by each of my hips, gripping the grille pressing into my back, I’m crowded by six-feet-six-inches worth of bonafide cowboy.
