Gray takes the picture from my hands. Raw grief flickers like an open wound over his face, his swallow catching in his throat. I watch as he tries to push it away, tries to stifle it—and he does, just barely. It still haunts the depths of his eyes, and his pain hits me like a blow to my chest.
“She was one of my favorite people,” he says, his voice a little hoarse as he sets the picture back down. “I’m a fucking asshole.” He laughs humorlessly, glancing at me. “You know that as well as anyone. But Beth made me better. She made me want to be better. I don’t like a lot of people, but she was the best. The absolute best.”
My heart twists in my chest.
You’re not alone.
I understand.
How many times have I wanted someone to tell me that? How many times have I wanted someone to be there for me? How many times in the past couple months since I’ve known him has Gray been there for me?
After Caitlin and her cadre of bitches tried to fuck with me, after Cliff tried to rape me. After my drawings were torn apart, just like my soul.
I don’t think, I just act. Without hesitation or thought, I grasp Gray’s chin gently and guide his face to mine, standing on my tiptoes as I press my lips to his. Maybe it’s insane to even try, but I want to kiss away all the pain and hurt I see inside of him. Just put a band-aid on it for a little while, just numb it for the time being.
“I don’t think you're as big of an asshole as you think you are,” I murmur, my voice low.
His eyes are stormy, as if he’s still battling with himself. But his grip tightens on my hips as he tugs me closer. His nose skims the line of my neck as he drops his head, wrapping his arms around me.
I can feel him sigh, as if just that small gesture has brought him a little bit of peace. His soft murmur brushes my ear.
“I hope you’re right, Sparrow.”
5
Max wasn’t kidding about inviting herself over to Gray’s place. Over the next several days, she comes to visit me often. Elias and Declan come too, when they can.
Max’s family is back in Boston and she won’t be able to go home to visit them, but Elias and Declan have some family “obligations” around the holidays. I don’t quite know what that means, but from the way their eyes roll when they mention it, I’m guessing it’s not anything fun.
From what Gray has said, it’ll be a lot of schmoozing with work friends of their parents, attending holiday parties that are more about business networking than anything else, and generally having to keep up appearances and uphold the family name. It sounds pretty fucking awful, which explains why Gray doesn’t seem all that upset that his parents took off and left him on his own.
With them gone, he’s free to do whatever he wants—even if what he wants to do is take care of a girl from the wrong side of the tracks who’s recovering from a head injury.
Unfortunately, despite the progress I’m making in my recovery, the memories of that night at the party still haven’t returned.
I’ve stopped trying to force it. If they come back, they come back. If they don’t, they don’t. All I know is that some freshman girl found me at the base of the stairs in the basement, and even though it pisses me off to feel like there’s something I’m still missing, letting myself brood over it is pointless and frustrating.
So instead, I’ve been sketching. I don’t have my paints with me—those are still back at the school—but it’s been nice to get something out of my head and onto paper. It doesn’t matter how it’s getting out, just that the thoughts and shapes and colors are flowing out of my head, heart, and hands.
I’ve been drawing since I woke up this morning. I haven’t even stopped to eat, and I find myself in some half delirious, dream-like state as I sketch with the charcoal pencil I found in my book bag the other day. I’m growing to like the way the dark charcoal smudges my fingertips and palms as I work. I like the way the harsh lines on the page soften with just a brush of my fingers.
My mind wanders as I work, and as they do so often these days, my thoughts land on the Sinners. The men who spent a good part of last semester trying to drive me out of the school and make me miserable have now become the people who look out for me, who kept me from going into massive medical debt. Who care for me.
I still don’t believe it.
I still don’t want to believe it.
Sometimes, when Elias is flirting with me, when Declan and I share those moments between music and a joint, when Gray and I find ourselves wrapped up in each other—those moments I think it could be real. Those are the moments when I let go just a little bit, when I think that maybe it wouldn’t be bad to let them in, to let them claim a place in my heart.
But I know what it’s like to have good things taken away from you. I know what it is like to get attached, only to have life rip the rug out from under you.
My heart flutters in my chest as I press the pencil a little harder into the page, dark, painful lines staining the fibers of the paper.
Jared.
He was taken away from me, just like that. One day he was there, the next day I was at the morgue, looking at his cold, lifeless body. One day he was still in my life, and the next, he was gone. His future stolen away.
I don’t like to think about how much his death affected me. Maybe it’s the still-lingering shock from that day that’s kept me from fully giving in to the grief, or maybe it was the night that followed—the night at the bar with Gray. Maybe in his own way, Gray was my saving grace, my anchor to keep me from doing something stupid I couldn’t have taken back in the depth of my grief.
Gray.
I don’t remember the end of semester party, but I remember a feeling.
What, though? What was it?
It fucking hurts my head every time I try to dig around in my brain for the answers. Dropping my charcoal, I press my fingers to my temples and rub away the ache, not caring that I’m probably smearing charcoal dust over my skin.
“Hey, Sophie, you in there?”
A soft knock sounds on my half-open door. I look up from my sketch as Max pokes her head into the guest room I’ve been staying in.
“Hey.” I grin. “Sorry, I was in the zone.”
“I can see that. It’s cool.” She grins when she looks at the charcoal marks on my face, and I roll my eyes as I wipe them off. “How are you feeling?” she adds.
The throbbing in my temples eases a little as my mind veers away from poking at the blank spots in my memory. With Max here, all the questioning and confusion from earlier melts away, leaving me with just myself again.
“Pretty good, actually.” I wipe my hands off on a scrap of cloth and then snap my sketchbook shut.
It’s true. Since arriving at Gray’s house a few days ago and being able to rest without nurses constantly poking at me, my recovery has been swift. Aside from some lingering bruises that don’t hurt much, I’m practically back to normal. Leaning back in the large, plush chair I’ve claimed as my sketching spot, I give her a small smile. “What about you?”
She settles onto the foot of the bed. “I’m good. Just talked to Elias and Declan. They’ll be over in a little bit.” When she catches me giving her a look, she raises her eyebrows, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “What?”