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Chapter 19 (Lou-Lou)
I inhale the scent of his skin—the perfect mixture of the expensive but subtle cologne he always wears and his own earthy scent—and let it calm me as he rocks me in his arms while he carries me to the bathroom.
“I need you,” I choke out through strained breaths, no longer caring about anyone possibly overhearing or what they may think, because it's the truth.
Right now in this moment, I need him. I need him to fight the battle that I can't...the one I never could.
“I'm right here,” he assures me again and I fall against him.
I love that I don't feel the material of his suit against my cheek, but his t-shirt, it proves that I'm in Ricky's arms right now and not—Mr. DeLuca, the mob boss. The killer of i
I've missed you so much—I can't help but think as I feel another fat tear roll down my face.
Sometimes you don't realize how much you can miss someone, how much another soul can truly breathe life back into your own, until you're face to face and skin to skin with them again.
Until your heart is literally beating against theirs, both calming and driving you crazy at the same exact time. Until every single part of you feels whole, despite just having shattered into a million pieces in a room full of people you don't even know.
Because I can't break in Ricky's arms...his arms are my superglue, my refuge from my demons, my home.
His arms are my freedom from the monsters that bind me, and his heart is my very own dandelion...because everything that little girl could ever wish for is locked up inside it.
“Your panic attacks are worse,” he notes as he sets me down on the bathroom sink.
It's not a question, it's simply a statement. A very real statement.
“Yes,” I whisper as he takes a bottle of peroxide out from under the cabinet.
I would lie to anyone else, refuse to talk about it, or make some rude remark to turn the tables, but not with him.
“Marlene...she didn't mean to.” I swallow hard, I can't have another i
He cups my cheek. “Shh, don't worry about any of that. It's just me and you. Talk to me. When did they start becoming worse?”
I look away, but he tucks two fingers under my chin and lifts my gaze back to him. “Give me a truth.”
I can feel my eyes start to water again and part of me hates how vulnerable and emotional I am right now. “After...” my voice cuts off and I try again. “After I killed him.”
Anger crosses over his features and he curses under his breath, but I reach for his hand. “It's not because I regret it or because it traumatized me, Ricardo.”
I drop his hand and bite my thumb nervously, trying to gather my thoughts so I can explain them. “I think—I think I thought that I would be magically fixed after I killed him. Like a veil would be lifted and I would be okay.”
I wipe my tears with the back of my hand and continue. “For the first two months I was gone, I kept telling myself that it would get better. That the nightmares and flashbacks would go away. That I would find a place to live, get a job, enroll in school...and I would be fine. But that didn't happen.”
He dabs a cotton ball on my shoulder and I take a breath and continue. “When I finally settled down and decided to live with Momma, I figured they would disappear for good. But they actually got worse.”
I fidget with a loose string on my shirt, not wanting to look at him as I say this. “I think the more I tried to fit in with people and society in general...and the more I tried to do things that normal people do—the more I was reminded that I'll never be like them. They got worse the moment I realized they won...both of them. They're dead...but they still won...because I won't ever be normal.”
My voice shakes and more fat, hot tears fall down my face. “I want so badly to be like everyone else and have what they have.”
I hug my knees to my chest. “And even though he's gone and he can't hurt that little girl anymore, I still have so much anger inside me. I'm so angry about everything that's happened. About all the things I'll never have because of them. I'm like a bomb about to detonate at any given moment.”
I choke back another sob. “I'm such a hazard to people, I should have orange cones around me all the time. I'm fucking crazy.”
I smack my head. “I'm a mental case and everyone knows it. It's why I couldn't make a single friend out there...because let's face it...who the hell would want to be friends with someone like me? I'm a complete mess...but even worse than that? I'm still broken, Ricardo. So fucking broken.”
In one swift motion he wraps his arms around me and presses me to his chest. “You're not broken, baby. They were the ones who were broken. There was something wrong with them, not you.” He traces slow circles up and down my arms. “And you're not crazy. But you're right, you'll never be normal, because you weren't born to fit in with the other dull assholes out there in the world. Not when you shine.”
I look up at him. “You're wrong, Ricardo. Only things that live in the light can shine.”
“That's because it's easy to shine in the light, Lou-Lou. It's impossible to shine in the dark.” He slides a hand behind my neck and kisses my forehead. “But you do...and don't you ever forget it.”
He pulls back slightly and studies my face. “And you have friends, baby.”
“No I don't.”
He thinks about this for a moment before he says, “Momma's your friend.”
I roll my eyes and shake my head. “Momma's not my friend. Momma's —” I pause because I don't know how to clarify what I mean.
“Momma's...Momma,” he finishes for me. “Okay, I'll give you that one.” He laughs and wipes my tears away. “You have Marlene though, she's your friend.”
“Please,” I scoff. “Marlene hates me and she only deals with me because you pay her and she's scared of you.”
He lifts my chin up again and looks me right in my eyes. “Well you have me. You always have me.”
His heart, which was beating calmly just a moment before picks up.
The air around us changes when his gaze drops to my mouth. And just like that, the heat in his stare turns me to lava, the warmth flowing through me and settling low in my belly.
Friends, yeah right. Ricardo and I can't be friends. There's too much attraction and chemistry between us. Too much...everything between us. It's why we couldn't stay friends in the first place.
“You were never my friend,” I breathe, the air between us now crackling and sizzling, just like it always does when there's that magnetic shift between us.
“I know.”
I feel his gaze scorch a path along my chest, hips, and lower, before landing on my face again. “I most definitely was never your friend, Lou-Lou.”
He bites his lip and smirks, like the cocky bastard he is—and those damn butterflies which I once thought were so dead they gave up and turned back into caterpillars—swarm like drunk honeybees at a rave.
I'm pretty sure the dynamic of our relationship must be the eighth wonder of the world. Because even when we hate one another...there's still no one else that I want more. There's no one else who ignites all of these intense feelings in me—both good and bad— the way he does.
His hands land on my waist and he brushes taunting strokes along the edges of my bra that has my skin breaking out in goosebumps. “You really didn't meet any guys out there? No boyfriends? No stolen kisses?”