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don’t think many people can really understand what it’s like to be so invested in someone—to share every single moment and then to have them ripped from you. We have an unhealthy, co-dependent relationship. I know this. And I’m trying to change, to grow beyond him, but why does that have to be a stipulation? I want to grow with him. I want to be with him. I want to love Lo without people telling me that our love is too much.
From here, I smell the fresh cut flowers that fill the vase on the glass coffee table. Connor brings a new bouquet every time they wilt. This time, he picked out yellow and pink daises that remind me of my youngest sister.
Our I love yous encompass years of heartache, of hurt, of laughter and pain. And every time we say the words, I feel the rush of our childhood. I couldn’t imagine ever losing that.
It’s not so easy when my whole family believes my only problem surrounds Lo’s absence. They only understand his addiction, and I know—deep in my heart—that they’ll never understand mine.
She can be in your corner one second and then completely victimize herself the next just to guilt you.
The longer you control a man, the more likely they’ll leave you. Is that what you want? To be alone and miserable for the rest of your life?” “I don’t know. You’re pretty miserable, Mother, and you’re married.”
“How can you love your parents so much, but then absolutely hate them the next?” She inhales a deep breath. “I need to go back to therapy.”
think we’re all old enough to feel the scars of our upbringing. Now we just have to find a way to heal.
“You’re right,” he says softly. “You don’t need a man, Rose.” He pauses and I barely hear him whisper, “But you do need me.”
fuck yeah. Now in his boxer-briefs, Lo turns and sees me with his alcohol. He takes it quickly from me, his eyes still light. He raises his drink. “Mine,” he says. He takes my hand in his and places it over the bulge in his boxer-briefs. “Yours.”
I can’t be turned off by weird or uncomfortable situations. I just have to fucking deal. And that’s something I’ve been pretty good at most of my life.”
“Okay, well, hate to break it to you, but sex is ten times better than skydiving.” “No it’s not,” she rebuts. Ryke leans forward on his chair a little. “Then whoever fucked you didn’t do it right, sweetheart.”
“In fact, you should stay away from any guy who doesn’t make you come at least twice before he fucks you. Keep that in mind.”
“Giving something up isn’t the same thing as losing control. It’s the opposite, Lily. You’re taking back control.”
“I’m remarrying you, Lil. Fuck, I’d remarry you a hundred times until it stuck.” I pinch my eyes again. “Yeah?” “Yeah.” “Even if I make you miserable?” There’s a long pause before he murmurs, “You don’t make me miserable. You make me want to live. And I want to live with you.”
So I have a boyfriend who doesn’t like to talk about his problems. This may be harder than I thought.
“He’s one of my triggers to drink, but I didn’t need rehab to figure that out.” My chest constricts. “Am I…” What if I’m a trigger. Oh God. “No, Lil,” he tells me with a short laugh. “You’re the opposite. You’re my stability…my home.”
“I love you,” he says again, “and no other man will ever say those words and mean them the way I do.”
Neglect and loneliness drove me to this place. A single choice to start and then the inability to stop.
