Read Online Posey (Low #1.5) by Mary Elizabeth - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Mary Elizabeth
Ads: Link
plastic. “I’ll be here every week, Lowen.”
“Set down the phone.” The guard reaches for the link to my boy, but he shrugs him away.
A second guard approaches my side of the visiting room. “Time to go.”
“Give me one more fucking minute,” I say dismissively.
As the phone is pried from my ear and a female officer drives my chair back, Lowen is forced to stand and slammed against the wall as his cuffs are tightened to make moving on his own impossible.
Before I’m shoved away and he’s led back to his six-by-eight cell, he mouths, “I love you.”
POESY,
DURING CHOW , I caught myself thinking about the first time I saw you. I was up to my elbows in grass clippings and cut from your mother's roses. Thorns scraped my wrists and arms as I reached into those overgrown bushes, slicing my hands and wrists until I bled.
It was evening, around five p.m. You came walking down the street with large silver hoops in your ears and warm-red cheeks. The setting sun seemed to direct its dim light only on you, making you brighter than the entire world.
Blood dripped from my wounds, and you looked at my DNA staining the concrete around my feet as you strolled by.
"I've always hated those roses," you said.
I stood there like an idiot for a few minutes after you took all the light inside with you, leaving me blind and breathless altogether. It wasn't until my boss stepped by with the weed whacker, clipping my ankle, that I snapped out of it. But I wasn't any less aware of your presence.
You reappeared when the rest of the landscaping crew and I were packing up our hedge trimmers and lawn mowers. With a small hand, you offered me a bottle of water and let the others finish loading the gear with dry throats and dust in their eyes.
I stood under your light until I drank every drop of water you gifted me with, talking about crosses and being forsaken. I watched the way you bit your bottom lip between small talk, and how your long eyelashes brushed the tops of your cheeks.
It was then, in front of your house, surrounded by the scent of freshly cut grass and dried blood ... I knew I was going to fuck you.
It wasn't until later that I realized it was love at first sight.
Miss you, girl.
Lowen
LOW,
CAN YO U believe it’s already Valentine’s Day? Lame. I can’t go anywhere without having affection and devotion and big stuffed bears holding stupid red hearts chucked in my face. Cupid has shoved his arrows up every couple’s ass, leaving them all in a temporary fog where they’ve forgotten the other’s transgressions, and all is perfect.
It’s bullshit.
I went to the store the day before yesterday for floss and the Bieber album. (Go to hell, inmate. You have no say in what I do or do not listen to.) Anyway, I’m in line to check out, humming “Baby, Baby, Baby , ” when it dawned on me that I was literally surrounded by love-deranged weirdos. Everyone had baskets full of chocolate roses and cheap wine, and there I was … alone, worried about my dental hygiene.
By. Myself.
There was this chick in front of me with reddish-blonde hair. She was with this boy who had the craziest blue eyes. They were obviously fighting, even though her shopping cart had a few boxes of Sweethearts, Twinkies, and pink Peeps inside. She called him a monster. I smiled, because I thought maybe she was actually on my side. But then they started making out, so I put my gum in her hair while they were choking on each other’s tongues.
Even my dad bought my mom flowers this week.
I pulled off all the petals and ate them.
Just kidding. That would be gross.
How do jailbirds celebrate Valentine’s Day, Lowen? Because as lonely as I am, as pissed as I am, as troubled as I am that a heart-shaped egg shaper is an actual thing, it has to be worse to spend Love Day behind bars when someone on the outside loves you as much as me.
Let’s make a deal, convict. Next Valentine’s Day, the only
“Set down the phone.” The guard reaches for the link to my boy, but he shrugs him away.
A second guard approaches my side of the visiting room. “Time to go.”
“Give me one more fucking minute,” I say dismissively.
As the phone is pried from my ear and a female officer drives my chair back, Lowen is forced to stand and slammed against the wall as his cuffs are tightened to make moving on his own impossible.
Before I’m shoved away and he’s led back to his six-by-eight cell, he mouths, “I love you.”
POESY,
DURING CHOW , I caught myself thinking about the first time I saw you. I was up to my elbows in grass clippings and cut from your mother's roses. Thorns scraped my wrists and arms as I reached into those overgrown bushes, slicing my hands and wrists until I bled.
It was evening, around five p.m. You came walking down the street with large silver hoops in your ears and warm-red cheeks. The setting sun seemed to direct its dim light only on you, making you brighter than the entire world.
Blood dripped from my wounds, and you looked at my DNA staining the concrete around my feet as you strolled by.
"I've always hated those roses," you said.
I stood there like an idiot for a few minutes after you took all the light inside with you, leaving me blind and breathless altogether. It wasn't until my boss stepped by with the weed whacker, clipping my ankle, that I snapped out of it. But I wasn't any less aware of your presence.
You reappeared when the rest of the landscaping crew and I were packing up our hedge trimmers and lawn mowers. With a small hand, you offered me a bottle of water and let the others finish loading the gear with dry throats and dust in their eyes.
I stood under your light until I drank every drop of water you gifted me with, talking about crosses and being forsaken. I watched the way you bit your bottom lip between small talk, and how your long eyelashes brushed the tops of your cheeks.
It was then, in front of your house, surrounded by the scent of freshly cut grass and dried blood ... I knew I was going to fuck you.
It wasn't until later that I realized it was love at first sight.
Miss you, girl.
Lowen
LOW,
CAN YO U believe it’s already Valentine’s Day? Lame. I can’t go anywhere without having affection and devotion and big stuffed bears holding stupid red hearts chucked in my face. Cupid has shoved his arrows up every couple’s ass, leaving them all in a temporary fog where they’ve forgotten the other’s transgressions, and all is perfect.
It’s bullshit.
I went to the store the day before yesterday for floss and the Bieber album. (Go to hell, inmate. You have no say in what I do or do not listen to.) Anyway, I’m in line to check out, humming “Baby, Baby, Baby , ” when it dawned on me that I was literally surrounded by love-deranged weirdos. Everyone had baskets full of chocolate roses and cheap wine, and there I was … alone, worried about my dental hygiene.
By. Myself.
There was this chick in front of me with reddish-blonde hair. She was with this boy who had the craziest blue eyes. They were obviously fighting, even though her shopping cart had a few boxes of Sweethearts, Twinkies, and pink Peeps inside. She called him a monster. I smiled, because I thought maybe she was actually on my side. But then they started making out, so I put my gum in her hair while they were choking on each other’s tongues.
Even my dad bought my mom flowers this week.
I pulled off all the petals and ate them.
Just kidding. That would be gross.
How do jailbirds celebrate Valentine’s Day, Lowen? Because as lonely as I am, as pissed as I am, as troubled as I am that a heart-shaped egg shaper is an actual thing, it has to be worse to spend Love Day behind bars when someone on the outside loves you as much as me.
Let’s make a deal, convict. Next Valentine’s Day, the only
Similar Books
