couches.
“I fucked up sooo bad,” Fitz continued, lying on his back, eyes toward the ceiling. He glanced at her. “You don’t love me anymore, do you?” Waving his arms, he said, “I wouldn’t...I wouldn’t love me anymore.”
“I’ll always love you, Fitz. That’ll never change.” Zuly walked toward him. “But, sweetheart, you need help.” She took a seat near his legs. “You need to see a counselor.”
He shook his head vigorously. “No. No counselor. I don’t need a fucking counselor.”
“You do.”
Fitz looked to her, eyes wide. “All I need is you...”
Jesus.
He sat up on his elbows and intertwined their fingers. “That’s all I’ve ever needed.” Rubbing the back of her hand against his face, where his beard had begun to regrow, he added. “My sweet Zuly. All mine .”
She swallowed, whispering, “I can do a lot of things, but I can’t make your PTSD disappear, baby.
Crystalline eyes open now, he glared at her as he let go of her hand. “You think something’s wrong with me.”
“No,” Zuly said slowly. “I think you’re hurt and you need to see someone.”
Fitz turned over, away from her. “No help.” He mumbled, voice beginning to sound farther and farther away. “Just you...always you...”
Rubbing her temples, Zuly started to stand but his hand shot out to stop her. “Where’re you going?”
“To clean up.”
“Unh-unh.” Turning back toward her, he pulled until she lay between his thighs, resting against his chest. “Stay right here...with me...”
“Fitz–”
“Shh,” he hushed her. “Just for a little bit?” Pressing his face to her hair, he dropped his tone to a murmur. “Need to feel something other than sad...”
Hot moisture pricked her eyes. God, she hadn’t cried this much or this often since the nickname Bush head had come along and stuck as a kid.
Zuly settled into his embrace until she was comfortable. “Just for a little bit...”
Seven
If the good Lord truly loved him as he said he did, he’d spare Fitz and bring him through the pearly gates now. Like right now. What the fuck had he been thinking? Why in the name of all that was sweet and holy had he figured a drinking binge would fix his life?
“God,” Fitz rasped in a whisper as he slowly lifted one hand to cover his eyes, praying he’d never have to experience sunlight again. “I solemnly swear–”
“You might as well stop, Fitz, because right about now your promises mean shit.”
Zuly? Oh, God, Zuly!
Jerking upwards, his eyes squinted on the figure sitting on the far side of the room and realized it was nowhere near daylight out but that she had all the lights turned on in his suite. His suite that was now spotless...
She didn’t even lift her head from the magazine in her hands, just turned the pages with an easy demeanor that completely belied the frustration rolling off her.
“Z–”
“Do you really wanna do this now?” Zuly questioned, cutting in calmly. “ Right now?” Those pages kept turning.
He didn’t know what bothered him more—the fact she wouldn’t look at him or the fact her voice had yet to surpass a whisper. Standing, Fitz pushed his hair back from his forehead before scratching his jaw. “How long have I, uh...” He gestured to the couch.
“Not that long.” She answered his incomplete question. “About six hours at the most.”
He nodded, awkwardly searching for his next words. Where did he go from here? He’d confessed the one thing he’d been holding onto for years, and then he disappeared just to end up calling her to clean up his shit. How had she notslit his throat and dumped him by now?
Nights ago, he’d walked until he was tired, until the sound of his brother crashing through his parents’ coffee table had been enough to drive him to the brink of insanity. Calling a cabbie had been his only option because he could not go home and he couldn’t call Zuly. Or at least he felt like he couldn’t. Leaving town
“I fucked up sooo bad,” Fitz continued, lying on his back, eyes toward the ceiling. He glanced at her. “You don’t love me anymore, do you?” Waving his arms, he said, “I wouldn’t...I wouldn’t love me anymore.”
“I’ll always love you, Fitz. That’ll never change.” Zuly walked toward him. “But, sweetheart, you need help.” She took a seat near his legs. “You need to see a counselor.”
He shook his head vigorously. “No. No counselor. I don’t need a fucking counselor.”
“You do.”
Fitz looked to her, eyes wide. “All I need is you...”
Jesus.
He sat up on his elbows and intertwined their fingers. “That’s all I’ve ever needed.” Rubbing the back of her hand against his face, where his beard had begun to regrow, he added. “My sweet Zuly. All mine .”
She swallowed, whispering, “I can do a lot of things, but I can’t make your PTSD disappear, baby.
Crystalline eyes open now, he glared at her as he let go of her hand. “You think something’s wrong with me.”
“No,” Zuly said slowly. “I think you’re hurt and you need to see someone.”
Fitz turned over, away from her. “No help.” He mumbled, voice beginning to sound farther and farther away. “Just you...always you...”
Rubbing her temples, Zuly started to stand but his hand shot out to stop her. “Where’re you going?”
“To clean up.”
“Unh-unh.” Turning back toward her, he pulled until she lay between his thighs, resting against his chest. “Stay right here...with me...”
“Fitz–”
“Shh,” he hushed her. “Just for a little bit?” Pressing his face to her hair, he dropped his tone to a murmur. “Need to feel something other than sad...”
Hot moisture pricked her eyes. God, she hadn’t cried this much or this often since the nickname Bush head had come along and stuck as a kid.
Zuly settled into his embrace until she was comfortable. “Just for a little bit...”
Seven
If the good Lord truly loved him as he said he did, he’d spare Fitz and bring him through the pearly gates now. Like right now. What the fuck had he been thinking? Why in the name of all that was sweet and holy had he figured a drinking binge would fix his life?
“God,” Fitz rasped in a whisper as he slowly lifted one hand to cover his eyes, praying he’d never have to experience sunlight again. “I solemnly swear–”
“You might as well stop, Fitz, because right about now your promises mean shit.”
Zuly? Oh, God, Zuly!
Jerking upwards, his eyes squinted on the figure sitting on the far side of the room and realized it was nowhere near daylight out but that she had all the lights turned on in his suite. His suite that was now spotless...
She didn’t even lift her head from the magazine in her hands, just turned the pages with an easy demeanor that completely belied the frustration rolling off her.
“Z–”
“Do you really wanna do this now?” Zuly questioned, cutting in calmly. “ Right now?” Those pages kept turning.
He didn’t know what bothered him more—the fact she wouldn’t look at him or the fact her voice had yet to surpass a whisper. Standing, Fitz pushed his hair back from his forehead before scratching his jaw. “How long have I, uh...” He gestured to the couch.
“Not that long.” She answered his incomplete question. “About six hours at the most.”
He nodded, awkwardly searching for his next words. Where did he go from here? He’d confessed the one thing he’d been holding onto for years, and then he disappeared just to end up calling her to clean up his shit. How had she notslit his throat and dumped him by now?
Nights ago, he’d walked until he was tired, until the sound of his brother crashing through his parents’ coffee table had been enough to drive him to the brink of insanity. Calling a cabbie had been his only option because he could not go home and he couldn’t call Zuly. Or at least he felt like he couldn’t. Leaving town
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