once, maybe more. I’d asked Chris what all he had said while I was unconscious, but she would just start going on about what a bastard he was. I didn’t disagree. He was a bastard. A bastard who shot me. I knew I should hate him with the same fierceness as Chris. That’s why telling her this was so hard. It felt like betrayal.
“Chris, I know you hate him, and I know I should t oo. I just can’t stop thinking about him and why he hasn’t come around. You’d think he’d come check on me. I heard Fernie’s side of the story. I want to hear his.”
“His side is he’ s a killer. What else do you need to know?” Chris was leaning against the vanity, arms crossed, ready to dispute anything I said. I continued nevertheless.
“But why is he a killer? I can’t imagine him wanting to kill. Everything about it seems contradictory to the J I love.”
“You love?” Chris pushed off from the vanity and stood with her back straight. “You mean loved, past tense, right?”
Fuck. “I don’t know.” I wanted it to be past tense. It should be. I mean, the asshole shot me after all. But, in my mind, it wasn’t always past tense.
My silence was all the answer Chris needed. “What the fuck? The bastard shot you! I’ve sat here with you half naked for weeks washing your hair, helping you dress, even sleeping on your fucking couch in case you needed something in the night. I’ve done all this because of what HE did to YOU. There’s no way you could love a monster like him.”
Her words burned me. He wasn’t a monster. There was no way the gentle man who’d held me that night at the Chateau in Kansas City could be a monster.
“He’s not a monster.”
Chris disagreed. “He’s a fucking psycho killer. He would’ve killed that boy if you hadn’t dove in front and taken the bullet. You’re crazy if you think you can love him, and I’m crazy for fucking helping you for the last two weeks if you’re still trynna be with that fuck head.”
“I didn’t ask you to sleep on my couch for two weeks,” I retorted back at her. I knew she had valid points, but I couldn’t deny that I was having these feelings. Her words made me feel terrible, and instead of explaining it to her, I was a bitch.
Chris’ voice got low. Bad sign. Bad bad sign. “No, you didn’t. Sorry for cramping your style.”
Chris stormed out of the bathroom. I did my best to get my robe on as quickly as possible so I could run after her. Not an easy feat while nursing a set of stitches. They were uncovered while I bathed. The rubbing of the cotton robe wasn’t a sharp, shooting pain. More of just a dull annoyance. I went into the living room to find Chris packing all her shit into a bag. Fuck.
“Chris. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to piss you off.”
“Uh huh.”
“Please. I was just telling you how I feel. I’m sorry I was a bitch. I’m grateful for your help.”
Once her bag was packed, Chris turned to me and laid it out. “Elle, you’re the one person I’d take a bullet for. Instead, you made me do something even harder. You made me watch your unconscious body being wheeled away on a gurney while doctors said things like STAT and OR. I was living a fucking Grey’s Anatomy episode. I sat with you for days, praying you’d wake up. I’ve been here for you every step of the way since you got home, yet you still love a bastard like J? Maybe you aren’t the person I thought I knew.”
I sucked in a breath. We’d never fought like this. She was being incredibly harsh when I was just trying to explain the shit in my head. That’s what we did. We shared the stuff we wouldn’t dare tell another living soul, and she was getting pissy with me for it?
“You know, Chris, I get what you did for me, and I’ve said thank you. But you have no idea the situation I’m in. You have no idea what’s going on inside my head cuz you won’t let me even explain. So fuckin' go, I’ll take care of my damn self.”
I turned and went back
“Chris, I know you hate him, and I know I should t oo. I just can’t stop thinking about him and why he hasn’t come around. You’d think he’d come check on me. I heard Fernie’s side of the story. I want to hear his.”
“His side is he’ s a killer. What else do you need to know?” Chris was leaning against the vanity, arms crossed, ready to dispute anything I said. I continued nevertheless.
“But why is he a killer? I can’t imagine him wanting to kill. Everything about it seems contradictory to the J I love.”
“You love?” Chris pushed off from the vanity and stood with her back straight. “You mean loved, past tense, right?”
Fuck. “I don’t know.” I wanted it to be past tense. It should be. I mean, the asshole shot me after all. But, in my mind, it wasn’t always past tense.
My silence was all the answer Chris needed. “What the fuck? The bastard shot you! I’ve sat here with you half naked for weeks washing your hair, helping you dress, even sleeping on your fucking couch in case you needed something in the night. I’ve done all this because of what HE did to YOU. There’s no way you could love a monster like him.”
Her words burned me. He wasn’t a monster. There was no way the gentle man who’d held me that night at the Chateau in Kansas City could be a monster.
“He’s not a monster.”
Chris disagreed. “He’s a fucking psycho killer. He would’ve killed that boy if you hadn’t dove in front and taken the bullet. You’re crazy if you think you can love him, and I’m crazy for fucking helping you for the last two weeks if you’re still trynna be with that fuck head.”
“I didn’t ask you to sleep on my couch for two weeks,” I retorted back at her. I knew she had valid points, but I couldn’t deny that I was having these feelings. Her words made me feel terrible, and instead of explaining it to her, I was a bitch.
Chris’ voice got low. Bad sign. Bad bad sign. “No, you didn’t. Sorry for cramping your style.”
Chris stormed out of the bathroom. I did my best to get my robe on as quickly as possible so I could run after her. Not an easy feat while nursing a set of stitches. They were uncovered while I bathed. The rubbing of the cotton robe wasn’t a sharp, shooting pain. More of just a dull annoyance. I went into the living room to find Chris packing all her shit into a bag. Fuck.
“Chris. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to piss you off.”
“Uh huh.”
“Please. I was just telling you how I feel. I’m sorry I was a bitch. I’m grateful for your help.”
Once her bag was packed, Chris turned to me and laid it out. “Elle, you’re the one person I’d take a bullet for. Instead, you made me do something even harder. You made me watch your unconscious body being wheeled away on a gurney while doctors said things like STAT and OR. I was living a fucking Grey’s Anatomy episode. I sat with you for days, praying you’d wake up. I’ve been here for you every step of the way since you got home, yet you still love a bastard like J? Maybe you aren’t the person I thought I knew.”
I sucked in a breath. We’d never fought like this. She was being incredibly harsh when I was just trying to explain the shit in my head. That’s what we did. We shared the stuff we wouldn’t dare tell another living soul, and she was getting pissy with me for it?
“You know, Chris, I get what you did for me, and I’ve said thank you. But you have no idea the situation I’m in. You have no idea what’s going on inside my head cuz you won’t let me even explain. So fuckin' go, I’ll take care of my damn self.”
I turned and went back
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