Talking Dirty(14)

Every single thing I did, every single day since I met her, had been for her. From the cologne I selected, to the shirts I wore, to the color of my car, to the major I chose, and everything in between—it was all with her in mind.

Because I loved her with all my heart. And that’s what happens when you love someone. Your happiness becomes dependent on their happiness.

And these men carelessly took it all away.

“I think about you both every day,” Morrison says.

I can’t bring myself to look at him. I stare at the floor. My mind spinning. My heart hurting. But my hands—my hands are steady.

“I started using more, trying to push the memories away. Trying to outrun all the guilt. And then…” He trails off and I wait. I don’t know why I wait. Maybe I want to hear it. Maybe I need to. Maybe I’m still holding out hope that in the end, he’ll offer me some kind of reason, though I know one doesn’t exist. Still, I wait for him to finish.

I wait.

I wait.

I cry. And I wait.

“One day, I saw a girl that resembled her,” he murmurs. “It was the eyes. So big. So blue.”

I fall to my knees as a howl of agony bursts through my lips. She had the most beautiful eyes I have ever seen. And they were so blue, he’s right. So bright. Framed in the longest lashes.

Sometimes after we kissed, she’d find one of her dark lashes on my cheeks. She’d pull it off, holding it on the tip of her finger between us, and even though we both knew it was her lash, she’d insist we both make the wish. Because all our wishes involved each other.

“I followed this girl. I don’t know if it was because she looked like Olivia.”

I look at him. I hate how her name sounds coming off of his tongue. He says it as if he knew her. Cared for her. He has no right. He. Has. NO. RIGHT.

“I nearly did it again. I grabbed this girl, and I was going to rape her. She begged me to let her go and all I could see was Olivia’s face. Pale. Lifeless.”

My stomach churns. I gag. My blood boils with rage as I push myself up. The knife is ready in my hand. I’m ready.

“I ran. I ran and I put myself into rehab that same day. I knew I had to get help. I knew if I didn’t, I’d hurt another girl.” He presses his head into the wall, looking up at me. “There’s something wrong with me, Linken.”

I startle at the sound of my name. Morrison doesn’t miss it. He uses the wall for support as he gets to his feet. I watch him carefully. Just waiting to strike.

“I saved every article. No matter how much I wished to forget, I never let myself.” He turns, walking down the hallway and I permit him to go, following closely behind.

He stops at the bookshelf and pulls a box down. He sets it on the coffee table, taking a seat on the couch. I watch in silence as he knocks the lid off. The box is full of newspaper clippings, all regarding Liv, that night, and me.

I look away. I don’t need to be reminded. It’s always fresh in my mind. Several heartbeats go by. I hear him shuffle through the box. The crinkle and shifting of paper perks my ears.

“This is us. Before. Before we became monsters.”

I move my head slowly. My gaze drops to his hand where he holds a faded picture between his fingers. I lean in, taking the edge as if I expect it to burn me. All four men are there. Arms around one another’s shoulders. Smiling. Happy. My gaze flicks from one face to the next. I see Morrison, Woods, Anthony, and then I pause on the last man. This must be Carter Bates. The one man I never really saw. The man that stabbed me—over and over—in the back, like a coward.

The picture shakes and it takes me a moment to realize my hand is trembling. I shove the photo into my pocket.

“I’ve tried to kill myself twice,” Morrison states matter-of-factly. “First with an overdose. The second with a razor blade.” He pulls up the cuff of his sleeve, showing me the scar on his wrist. I nearly laugh. I don’t think he wants to compare scars.

“Third time’s a charm,” I say.

His eyes lock onto mine and I hold steady, letting him see just how much I mean those words. He nods.

“Every day is a struggle. I think about death… I think about how easy it would be to just stop living. I’ve fought it for so long.”

“Stop fighting it,” I spit. “You don’t deserve to breathe. Livie’s six feet under the ground because of you. She isn’t living. She isn’t breathing. You shouldn’t be either.”

“An eye for an eye,” he replies in understanding.

I shake my head. “No. A life for a life.” I won’t put this on God. Our relationship is rocky at the moment. This is me. My choice. My rules.