Without You (Without You Duet Book 1)

by Marley Valentine

I walk around the room, skating my fingers through the thick layer of dust that coats everything. Nothing but a ghost remains in here, yet the unmade bed, with its rumpled sheets and slight body imprint, has me wishing that was anything but the truth. It’s almost a taunt, a false hope that life could be returning to the room at any moment.

My eyes fill with tears, because it’s one thing to know your parents love you, but it’s another to know you’re still never enough.

I wait for them to let me go, and rush to wipe my eyes, not wanting to break down in front of them, or at all. I’m not that type of guy, and when your parents are hanging on by a single thread, you don’t want to be the reason it frays. My grief has no priority here. I will myself to be the stone wall everybody expects me to be as we part awkwardly. I don’t let myself dwell on the widening emotional gap between us, and I don’t wait for the words of comfort that will never come.

The call disconnects, and out of pure indignation, I launch the phone across the room hard enough to hear it thump against the wall and crash to the floor. Because all the words in the world will never explain how broken I feel in this very moment, I walk to the beat-up cell and throw it at the other side of the room for good measure. Who the fuck needs to stay in contact with anyone anyway?

According to everyone else, I’m a bigger asshole than I thought, clearly unable to be nice to anyone for no good reason other than wanting to.

Every time I think about him—my hands on him, his mouth on mine—I anticipate a freak out. But the only thing I’m freaking out about is that the freak out never comes.

From the beginning, I’ve been like a sinner at confession, cracking my heart open for him while my flaws, fears, and insecurities spill out between us.

Emotion gets stuck in my throat; how did I ever think this man was indifferent and unfeeling? Love pours out of him, like he’s been waiting his whole life to shower someone with it.

“You can’t have him,” she continues, her voice getting colder. “He’s not yours to have, he’s Rhett’s.”

First, he is a person, not a possession, not a pet; he doesn’t *belong* to anyone. Second, even if he were someone’s to possess, Rhett’s been dead and buried for over a year, while he’s still a young man. Is he supposed to mourn Rhett until the end of his days? Isn’t he allowed to have love in his life after Rhett? How utterly cruel and selfish of Elaine to think like that. And don’t even get me started on the cruel treatment of her own flesh & blood.

“Am I enough for you?” I shamefully ask Julian. Refusing to meet his eyes, I continue, “I know I said I was fine with everything you shared with him, but I need to know the truth, because I’m so sick of being the fucking consolation prize.”

💔

I’ve never had a single person love me enough to do that.