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at her and she pulls away, taking Beck and Tease along with her. I put my forehead
against Amy's uninjured arm and breath in, out, in again.
I survived a gunshot, Amy says, reaching her fingers of her good hand up to play with
my hair. I assume this gives me some sort of street cred? she asks, and I chuckle softly,
keeping my head down. I feel like fucking shit. There should be some sort of high from
coming out on top today, some sort of relief from finding out that Amy's alright, that it's
not as serious as it could've been. Instead, all I feel is darkness inside of me. My mind
flutters through images, moments in life that I'd rather not relive. Like my brother. How I
got him shot. But he wasn't as lucky as Amy.
I look up and find a worried face and flat lips. Amy's brows are pinched together as she
waits for me to say something. I sit up a bit and perch on the edge of the cot, listening to
the squeak of the springs with gritted teeth. She shouldn't be laying here on this old piece
of shit. I want Amy to have a good life, an easy one. Because I love her. I do. I figured that
shit out, back when I saw Kent trying to kill her, when there was red oozing down her
tender throat. I open my mouth to say the words, but they get stuck inside, frozen there
along with my heart.
This is my fault, sugar, I say. And I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry. I shake my head and
get out a cigarette, lighting up and rising to my feet to open the window and waft the
smoke out the screen. If I sit near her a moment longer, I'm going to crack. Amy watches
me, resting her head back into the pillows and running her fingers of her left hand across
the cover of a book. The girl is always reading, always lost inside a book. I asked her once,
a few weeks back, if reading was an escape. You know what she said? It used to be, but
now, now it's just a vacation. I ain't got the slightest idea what that means, but it almost
made me curious enough to find out.
Did you pull the trigger? Amy asks, and I can already see where this is going. I turn
back to her, watching the soft fall of chestnut hair around her gorgeous face. She adjusts
herself and the blankets fall down her chest, exposing a hint of cleavage above the line of
her tank top. I try not to look at it, but fuck. I want to toss my cigarette to the floor, storm
across the room in a flurry of unfettered emotions, and kiss the ever livin' crap out of her.
Then I want to rip those blankets the rest of the way off, strip her and kiss her entire body
before I make sweet motherfucking love to her.
But I don't do any of that.
First off, because the girl's been frigging shot, and second, I have the answer to my
question. I am not good enough for this woman. If I was, I wouldn't be dragging her
through this shit. Getting shot at is nothing compared to what could happen. If what I saw
today is any indication, we're all in a heap of shit.
That shouldn't have ever happened to you, Cross, I say, letting my gaze take in the
orange spots of the streetlights. I should never have dragged you into this shit.
Amy turns and puts her feet on the ground, mouth downturned and face flushed.
What the hell you doin', sugar? I ask, crushing my cigarette out in the glass ashtray
that's sitting on the windowsill. I move over to her, but she stands up, steady on her feet.
What do you mean by that? she asks, and I glance away. I don't know if it's the day
I've had or just everything catching up to me all at once, but suddenly I feel antsy. Like I
need to ride. Just take off into the night with no idea of where I'm going. I'm a fucking
wimp. Jesus, where the hell did my balls go?
I mean I should've left you back in that little town of yours. As soon as I say the
words, I know they don't sound the way I meant them to. Amy slaps me across the face,
not hard, just enough to let me know that I'm not wanted in here right now. All I want to
do is hold her tight, but instead, I find myself backing towards the door.
Go find yourself again, Austin Sparks, and then come back and see me in the
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