Read Online First Came You (Fate #0.5) by Faith Andrews - Free Book Online
Authors: Faith Andrews
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because that’s the way I want it. This sucks, Gabby. I can’t see past right this second, but I do know that I won’t be able to do any of this without you. I love you so much. I loved them so much. We need to stick together to keep that love alive. It’s the only way.”
My heart breaks into even tinier fragments listening to her. As much as it pains me to force this kind of growing-up on my sister—on me too—I can’t bear to think of doing this without her. “You’re right. I don’t know how I could’ve thought otherwise. I need you now more than I ever. We need each other.”
We continue to cry as we hold each other. The tears never stop, only continue to fight through, emptying what little is left to feel.
The sight of us must be pathetic. I don’t know how Tommy’s watching on, staying quiet, remaining unscathed by this horror show of emotions. But he does, because that’s the kind of person he is. The kind who knows when I need him to be present in every way possible and when I need him to back off and let me be.
I want to let him comfort me. I want his touch and his love to be enough to heal my hurt, but right now it’s just not. He doesn’t understand this. He still has his parents. I don’t want to envy him for that, but I do. I pray my thoughts are only harsh because I’m irrational. I can’t put a wedge between me and Tommy because I don’t know how to let him be there for me.
He’ll have to be patient. I know he will be. It’s me I’m worried about because right now I don’t know which way is up or down and the uncertainty of it all makes me dizzy with fear.
We buried my parents on a Tuesday. It rained—poured, actually—adding another layer of morose ugliness to an already horribly depressing day.
My heart ached with immeasurable pain as we sat in church—the same second pew we’d shared together as a family on many Sundays—and I listened to the priest speak of my parents. He spoke in past tense and it made my stomach coil with panic.
My parents no longer are. Now they were.
The reality brought on a wave of nausea that I could only swallow down and force myself to ignore.
I had to learn to do that a lot in the last few weeks since the funeral; to disregard the looks of pity, the pain of moving forward because life goes on, and the fact when my parents died, they took a piece of me with them.
“Hey? You okay?” Tommy nudges me, barely penetrating my new permanent fog.
I shrug, never knowing how to answer him. No, I’m not okay. Yes, I’m slightly better than yesterday. Maybe, I’ll never be okay again.
What am I supposed to say? I can’t say anything.
So, I don’t.
I remain silent, lodging the wedge I’ve created between me and Tommy even deeper. I’m still not sure why he puts himself through this. I know he loves me, but I’m giving nothing in return. I wouldn’t blame him for giving up because I don’t know when I’ll be back to me—the me he fell in love with.
“Why don’t we take a ride to the beach? Dig our feet in the sand? Watch the waves roll in? A change of scenery might be good, Gabby. You haven’t been out of the house in days.” Tommy curls up behind me on my parents’ bed. I’ve slept here every night since—well, since they haven’t.
I cringe at his warm touch and more agony courses through me. Even his touch is no longer a comfort. I’m broken—in every way. Totally unfixable.
“Come on, baby. Let me get you dressed. You need this. We need this.”
I close my eyes and fight back tears. He’s so worried for me, for us, and all I can do is lay motionless on the sheets that still smell like my dead mother and father.
“I’m not ready. You go. You don’t need to stay here and watch me like this.” I’ve begged him to go many times. But he won’t. He’s practically moved in, sleeping on the couch, cooking for me and Gina. Invisible, yet a constant presence.
I should be thankful, but the sick part is, I’m not. Part of
My heart breaks into even tinier fragments listening to her. As much as it pains me to force this kind of growing-up on my sister—on me too—I can’t bear to think of doing this without her. “You’re right. I don’t know how I could’ve thought otherwise. I need you now more than I ever. We need each other.”
We continue to cry as we hold each other. The tears never stop, only continue to fight through, emptying what little is left to feel.
The sight of us must be pathetic. I don’t know how Tommy’s watching on, staying quiet, remaining unscathed by this horror show of emotions. But he does, because that’s the kind of person he is. The kind who knows when I need him to be present in every way possible and when I need him to back off and let me be.
I want to let him comfort me. I want his touch and his love to be enough to heal my hurt, but right now it’s just not. He doesn’t understand this. He still has his parents. I don’t want to envy him for that, but I do. I pray my thoughts are only harsh because I’m irrational. I can’t put a wedge between me and Tommy because I don’t know how to let him be there for me.
He’ll have to be patient. I know he will be. It’s me I’m worried about because right now I don’t know which way is up or down and the uncertainty of it all makes me dizzy with fear.
We buried my parents on a Tuesday. It rained—poured, actually—adding another layer of morose ugliness to an already horribly depressing day.
My heart ached with immeasurable pain as we sat in church—the same second pew we’d shared together as a family on many Sundays—and I listened to the priest speak of my parents. He spoke in past tense and it made my stomach coil with panic.
My parents no longer are. Now they were.
The reality brought on a wave of nausea that I could only swallow down and force myself to ignore.
I had to learn to do that a lot in the last few weeks since the funeral; to disregard the looks of pity, the pain of moving forward because life goes on, and the fact when my parents died, they took a piece of me with them.
“Hey? You okay?” Tommy nudges me, barely penetrating my new permanent fog.
I shrug, never knowing how to answer him. No, I’m not okay. Yes, I’m slightly better than yesterday. Maybe, I’ll never be okay again.
What am I supposed to say? I can’t say anything.
So, I don’t.
I remain silent, lodging the wedge I’ve created between me and Tommy even deeper. I’m still not sure why he puts himself through this. I know he loves me, but I’m giving nothing in return. I wouldn’t blame him for giving up because I don’t know when I’ll be back to me—the me he fell in love with.
“Why don’t we take a ride to the beach? Dig our feet in the sand? Watch the waves roll in? A change of scenery might be good, Gabby. You haven’t been out of the house in days.” Tommy curls up behind me on my parents’ bed. I’ve slept here every night since—well, since they haven’t.
I cringe at his warm touch and more agony courses through me. Even his touch is no longer a comfort. I’m broken—in every way. Totally unfixable.
“Come on, baby. Let me get you dressed. You need this. We need this.”
I close my eyes and fight back tears. He’s so worried for me, for us, and all I can do is lay motionless on the sheets that still smell like my dead mother and father.
“I’m not ready. You go. You don’t need to stay here and watch me like this.” I’ve begged him to go many times. But he won’t. He’s practically moved in, sleeping on the couch, cooking for me and Gina. Invisible, yet a constant presence.
I should be thankful, but the sick part is, I’m not. Part of
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