She’s standing right in front of me, those beautiful lips parted with anger, her fists clenched by her sides. Even if she hadn’t just told me all of that, I would know the truth from the look of dark bitterness in her eyes.
She knows. She’s been here. She’s damaged, just like me.
I let out a long breath, and feel the tension slip from my body. In a flash, I realize. I don’t have to pretend anymore.
“You know.” I say quietly.
She nods, sympathy softening her face. “Your mom’s in withdrawal,” she answers softly. “She’s coming down. She’s shaking, and emotional, she’s trying to fight it, but the craving’s too strong. What is it, meth? Painkillers?”
I look away, but she keeps talking.
“She’ll get through the worst of it soon,” Juliet adds, taking a step towards me. “But you’ve got to be kinder. She needs your support.”
“She had it.” My voice comes out twisted. “The last time, and the time before that. You think I haven’t seen this before?” I ask her, hopeless. “You think I haven’t tried to be gentle, and help her. But it’s always the same. There’ll always be another guy coming around with her fix, and she’ll always go back to it. Nothing I do will make a damn bit of difference.”
I sag back against the porch. I hate that she’s seen this, seen the worst of my life huddled and weeping in a bathroom stall, but part of me is relieved too.
She’s still here, after all. She could have left us, any time she wanted, but instead, she came with me.
She stayed.
“Oh, Emerson…” Juliet breathes my name like a prayer. I feel a movement, and then she’s standing beside me, leaning against the porch railing looking out at the darkening woods.
I close my eyes a minute, wishing that this could all go away. That we could be anywhere but here: on this run-down porch, with my addict of a mom passed out in the next room.
Then she shifts, and her body presses against my side.
It’s just a moment. Just a touch. But that brief heat of her skin against mine sends the anger melting away, replacing it with a small wave of calm. A light, in all my endless dark.
“How long?” Juliet asks softly.“Years, off and on.” I shrug, picking at the label of my beer. The words catch in my throat. It feels weird to be telling her this, when I’ve spent so long trying—and failing—to hide it from the world. But I know somehow, she won’t judge me like everyone else in this town. She won’t whisper under her breath, and turn away. It gives me the strength to keep talking, to try and explain.
“I don’t even know when it started, I just know when she couldn’t handle it anymore. I was fifteen,” I add. “There was a douche of a boyfriend, and then he was gone, and she fell to pieces.”
“I’m so sorry.”
It’s just a simple phrase, people use it all the time. I’m sorry I ran into you, bro. I’m sorry I was late. But when I glance over at Juliet’s face, so pale and determined there beside me, I can tell, she means it more than anything.
She doesn’t even know me, and still, she wants better for me.
It takes my breath away.
“What about you?” I ask, awkward. “Your dad…”
Juliet shakes her head, a sharp motion. “It’s nothing like this. Most of the time, he can keep it together. Nobody notices,” she adds in a small voice. “Mom pretends… she just keeps pretending. And the rest of them…” She exhales. “They don’t see. It’s his thing, you know: the life of the party, always having a good time. If he was passed out with a cheap quart of vodka, maybe they’d see, but it’s like, because he’s getting wasted on expensive wines at dinner, it doesn’t even matter. Like I shouldn’t care.”
“That’s bullshit.” I say fiercely. “It matters.”
Juliet looks down, her pale face shadowed with years of sadness and resignation. I feel anger surge through me, a primal force. Right now, I want nothing more than to hunt her father down and beat him bloody for putting her through this, for taking her precious beauty and filling it with pain.
“I used to wonder, if it was my fault.” She whispers, glancing up to meet my eyes. “If I tried harder to make them see he had a problem. If he loved me enough to quit—“
I reach for her, grabbing her by both arms. “You know it’s not your fault?” I demand urgently. “You can’t save him, not if he won’t save himself.”
Her eyes widen, and suddenly I realize I’m holding her close, her body just inches away from mine, my hands digging into her soft skin.
I freeze.
Juliet blinks at me, not moving. Her soft lips are parted, and everything in my body screams at me to kiss her: to capture that sweet mouth with mine, pull her closer, ravage her until that pain is gone from her expression and she can’t even remember her own name.
I fight it with everything I have. This is all wrong, I know. To want her, now, after everything we’ve just shared. Knowing her story, understanding what she’s been through. If she knew I was imagining those lips on mine, those eyes half-shut as I trail kisses down her soft throat… She’d think I was an animal, probably turn and walk away from me for good.
I should be used to it by now—people leaving. Hell, I’ve done my share of goodbyes. But the thought of Juliet being the one to turn away… I don’t know why, but just the idea sends a bolt of pain through me, sharp enough to cut through my lust.