"Yes, love can be wondrously complicated, it can be confusing, and it can be terrifying. But if it isn't all those things, then it isn't love."
― N. R. Hart
Said you wouldn't be able to live with the pain.
The abyss yawns open.
While I drive back to Newburgh with my son sound asleep strapped to the seat beside me, a mirthless smile reach my lips.
Let's just tell her I'm a liar, I'm the bad guy and she won't grieve anymore when I fake my death.
Did he really think I would hate him for that?
It still makes me wonder how much he actually knows me. I want to close my eyes, fall asleep, shut out these self-pitying thoughts.
Said you wouldn't be able to live with the pain.
When he came back this evening with a giggling Silas's small hand in his, I only stared, thinking if you loved me so much, then why didn't you understand me? I can't really blame him. If he had told me he was going to track down Megan's roots, I would have had forced him to take me with him. In a way, he was thinking right. He might have left me to grieve but he was concerned enough not to involve my son and me in whatever game he and Megan were playing. I am grateful for that. My son deserves a happy normal life, not the one his father went through in his last thirty-five years. Maybe I will forgive Silas for this but about leaving him, I am serious.
I simply have no room left for him or any other man in my life. I am willing to spend the rest of it, raising my kid (all alone still? I don't know).
The thought is depressing but it's going to hurt him even more if his father and I stay together for his sake only.
Said you wouldn't be able to live with the pain.
The pain in my guts twists and tightens, making me feel fourteen again. Why did he have to love me like that, almost unconditionally? In his absence, I craved it from our son, at times from Adrian. But it doesn't work like that. There are plenty of love-hate going on between me and my son whom I carry upstairs. His head lolls back as I set him down on his bed and walk towards his closet. Probably in a few days, I won't be able to lift him up and carry him to his bedroom. It's an ugly thought, not wanting my kid to grow up.
Sleep eludes me tonight as I gaze up at the bedroom ceiling. Baby Silas is draped over me, perhaps not even aware himself. It doesn't bother me. I hug him back, smelling his hair, smiling. He feels like the first ray of light after a long night, he smells like... his father. It's torture.
What's Silas doing now? I can't picture him in the condo- I haven't seen his bedroom- but I imagine him crouched over a messy canvas, his fingers sticky with paint, his curls falling over his forehead, not even aware of the cold air hitting his naked back. The clock on the wall reads 3:43 in the morning. I have to be up for office early. Shifting my baby on his back, I sigh and close my eyes.
Let's never leave this bed, Dawn. Stop being so silly. One of us has to go to work. You're so serious all the time. I am the older one, Dawn. Give me your hand.
Why? Just do it. Here, you just handed your worry over to me. I don't want you thinking about money, okay? Okay. Can I go down on you again? I am tired, Silas. Okay... Dawn? Hmm. You don't need to work here in Italy, you know that? Silas!
YOU ARE READING
Here's to Us (Blood Money #2)
Romance"What we had is over, Dawn. You don't have to do this anymore. You're free to go." I traced the glass separating us with my fingers, looking into his green eyes and whispered to the phone, "So you want to know why I'm still here?" He just stare...
