hand. “All I want is for you to get justice. All I want is for those monsters to be behind bars for life. I just want peace of mind.” Wiping my tears I let out another breath. “Everything sucks without you. I’m scared to do anything. I’m scared to laugh or smile because I don’t want to forget about you.”
In so many weird ways I feel as though if I start living my life then I’ll forget Evan and that’s not what I want to do. I want to always remember him and give his legacy a voice. I want people to know how strong he was and what he did for this community. Part of me wants to be strong enough then the other part is scared. It’s hard to put into comprehensible words what I feel like doing. What’s right? What’s wrong? How long do I grieve or do I grieve forever? Is there life after losing someone you love so much?
Hearing the front door open I don’t attempt to move. It’s probably my mom since Tonya’s away.
“Care!”
“Mason?” I mutter and slowly get up and put the picture down. Not caring what I look like because it’s Mason I walk out of my bedroom and down the spiral staircase and meet him in the kitchen. “Mase?”
“Why the fuck is your door unlocked?”
“Seriously?”
“Seriously.”
“Hi, my neighborhood is the safest and it’s gated, so really? I think I can leave the door unlocked. And it’s not like someone will be stupid enough to rob my house or come after me. Shit, maybe they can try.”
“Don’t say that.”
“Why?”
Mason brings me in his arms and kisses the top of my head. “When was the last time you showered?”
Pushing him away I climb on top of the bar stool and twirl my oily hair. “A few days ago,” I mutter. “What’s your point? Why the hell are you here again? You and I haven’t talked in months and then out of nowhere you came to my house being a hero, pretending that you care and that I mean something to you. And now you want to come here all trying to save me. I don’t need it,” I spit out and stand my ground against him. When it comes to Mason I usually don’t argue with him, but I know what he’s doing and I’m not falling for it. For months since Evan’s death he’s blamed himself. I’m not sure if I blame him too. To be perfectly honest I blame the entire police department. If they had been doing their jobs and pushed their informant harder my husband would be alive and we’d be happy.
“I’m here because you’re my best friend . . .”
“Stop right there,” I slowly tell him, putting up my hand and squaring my shoulders. “First thing, we’re not best friends and secondly, you don’t need to be here. I don’t need you.”
“I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you okay?” He says while taking my hand and looking at me. I want to look away and tell him to get out. I want him to stop looking at me. I’m not a project and I don’t accept pity. “I’m here now. Being around you when it first happened scared me. I didn’t know how to handle it. But now, I know I want to be here and help you. I want to be your best friend again.”
“Why the hell do you want that?”
Tucking a strand of hair behind my ear he smiles and continues to look at me. “Because you’re the only woman in my life who puts up with my shit and doesn’t want to sleep with me. With you, I can be myself and I know you’ll love me no matter what. So admit it, Care, you love me.”
“I hate you.”
“Awww, baby, I love you too.” He rubs my arm and starts laughing. “But right now you smell and need to shower.” He sniffs around and looks in the sink. “Oooookay so when was the last time you did anything with the house?”
“Why?”
“Well you smell and your house smells. Go shower.”
“Fine,” I mutter again and lift myself off the barstool and head back upstairs. Walking into the bathroom in my bedroom I look in the mirror and gasp in horror. My hair’s a mess. My face is oily and I have a zit right on my nose.
In so many weird ways I feel as though if I start living my life then I’ll forget Evan and that’s not what I want to do. I want to always remember him and give his legacy a voice. I want people to know how strong he was and what he did for this community. Part of me wants to be strong enough then the other part is scared. It’s hard to put into comprehensible words what I feel like doing. What’s right? What’s wrong? How long do I grieve or do I grieve forever? Is there life after losing someone you love so much?
Hearing the front door open I don’t attempt to move. It’s probably my mom since Tonya’s away.
“Care!”
“Mason?” I mutter and slowly get up and put the picture down. Not caring what I look like because it’s Mason I walk out of my bedroom and down the spiral staircase and meet him in the kitchen. “Mase?”
“Why the fuck is your door unlocked?”
“Seriously?”
“Seriously.”
“Hi, my neighborhood is the safest and it’s gated, so really? I think I can leave the door unlocked. And it’s not like someone will be stupid enough to rob my house or come after me. Shit, maybe they can try.”
“Don’t say that.”
“Why?”
Mason brings me in his arms and kisses the top of my head. “When was the last time you showered?”
Pushing him away I climb on top of the bar stool and twirl my oily hair. “A few days ago,” I mutter. “What’s your point? Why the hell are you here again? You and I haven’t talked in months and then out of nowhere you came to my house being a hero, pretending that you care and that I mean something to you. And now you want to come here all trying to save me. I don’t need it,” I spit out and stand my ground against him. When it comes to Mason I usually don’t argue with him, but I know what he’s doing and I’m not falling for it. For months since Evan’s death he’s blamed himself. I’m not sure if I blame him too. To be perfectly honest I blame the entire police department. If they had been doing their jobs and pushed their informant harder my husband would be alive and we’d be happy.
“I’m here because you’re my best friend . . .”
“Stop right there,” I slowly tell him, putting up my hand and squaring my shoulders. “First thing, we’re not best friends and secondly, you don’t need to be here. I don’t need you.”
“I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you okay?” He says while taking my hand and looking at me. I want to look away and tell him to get out. I want him to stop looking at me. I’m not a project and I don’t accept pity. “I’m here now. Being around you when it first happened scared me. I didn’t know how to handle it. But now, I know I want to be here and help you. I want to be your best friend again.”
“Why the hell do you want that?”
Tucking a strand of hair behind my ear he smiles and continues to look at me. “Because you’re the only woman in my life who puts up with my shit and doesn’t want to sleep with me. With you, I can be myself and I know you’ll love me no matter what. So admit it, Care, you love me.”
“I hate you.”
“Awww, baby, I love you too.” He rubs my arm and starts laughing. “But right now you smell and need to shower.” He sniffs around and looks in the sink. “Oooookay so when was the last time you did anything with the house?”
“Why?”
“Well you smell and your house smells. Go shower.”
“Fine,” I mutter again and lift myself off the barstool and head back upstairs. Walking into the bathroom in my bedroom I look in the mirror and gasp in horror. My hair’s a mess. My face is oily and I have a zit right on my nose.
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