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Twenty
Conner
I contemplate taking the watch off as soon as Tess drags Henley out the door. But I don’t. I leave it on, because as much as I hate to admit it, Tess is right.
I do need a goddamned babysitter.
There have been experiments designed to determine how long a person can function without sleep. General consensus dictates a subject in a closely monitored environment can maintain a semblance of normal functioning for an average of ten days before losing coherency.
I’m on day twelve.
I shaved off a few days when Tess started badgering me. She knows the signs and I don’t want to worry her. She worries about me enough.
No sex.
No booze.
Inconvenient and irritating, but I made a promise. I might be an inconsiderate bastard with loose morals and an over-taxed liver, but I keep my promises.
Who the fuck do you think you’re kidding? This isn’t about your imaginary sense of integrity. This is about her.
That doesn’t leave me with a lot of options. I could find a fight. It’s Thursday—there will be douchebags aplenty at the bar tonight. My usual routine is pick some jackhole who likes to get pushy and then wait for him get his dick in a twist because the woman he’s hitting on isn’t falling all over herself to leave with him. Then I step in, rough him up a little. By the time I’m through, said damsel in distress is so turned on by my white knight routine that she’s got her panties in her hand before I can blink.
All of which is a big, fat nope.
She waltzes back into your life and five seconds later, you’re jumping through goddamned hoops again.
Besides, fighting in my current state is a bad idea. My judgment is impaired. I’d probably end up killing someone.
That leaves me this. The only outlet I have that doesn’t involve self-abuse.
Yeah, as long as I keep the watch on.
Anything to keep her.
Anything to be with her.
Crazy thing is, I don’t even want to drink. And don’t even get me started on other women. Promise or no promise that was never going to happen. It’s ladies’ night. A month ago, I’d be shooting fish in a barrel. Right now, just the thought of it makes me a little sick to my stomach.
I’ll be lucky if I’m ever fully-functional again.
There’s a way to fix this, you know? A way to even yourself out. A way to keep your promise. Get what you need.
Henley’s the fucking problem, but she also happens to be the solution.
What was it you said to Legs when she and Patrick were going round and round?
You broke it, you bought it.
She’s the one who broke you.
Make her fix you.
She didn’t break me. I’ve been fucked up since the day I was born. But she’s the only person I’ve ever known who can make me feel like all my parts are working right. When she smiles at me, I feel whole. I feel real.
Yeah? She can break you as fast as she can fix you, asshole. Remember that.
For all my grandstanding and this isn’t over until I say so bullshit, I’ve been avoiding Henley. The night I dropped her off at her place was the last time I spoke to her. Looked at her. I mean really looked at her. She asked me if I wanted to come up and I froze.