Page 131 of Riding the Sugar High

For a moment, he seems surprised, his eyebrows arching. “Wow...this Primrose did a number on you, didn’t she?”

My tongue feels too heavy for my mouth, my head too light, my heart shattered. Now that he’s mentioned her, I want to hit something again. I want to smash my fist against the wall, over and over again, until the pain is stronger than the regret.

For some reason, one of our first conversations comes back to me. The two of us sitting in my kitchen early in the morning, eating oats and talking about her candy. It was the first time she cried in front of me, and it’s happened countless times since. I remember thinking she was acting pathetic. Crying over some...boy. She blamed it on anger, but it wasn’t it. She was hurting.

You have every right to feel your pain.

Resting both arms on my thighs, I grimace. “Do you know why I still have a relationship with Josie, but not with you? Why I’m not angry at her the way I am with you?”

Tapping gently around his eyes, he hums. “Because you’re in love with her?”

“Becauseyouhurt me. She cheated on me, and it sucks.” I shake my head. “But you are my big brother, Aaron. You were supposed to have my back.”

He nods, looking down. When he doesn’t say anything back, I run my fingers through my hair. I don’t even know why I’m arguing with him right now—maybe in the hope of releasing some of the anger I feel at myself, but it’s not working, and I want to be alone.

I stand, but Aaron offers, “Let me have your back now.”

With a sigh, I watch him.

“If you’re still in love with Josie, stay away from Primrose. I can tell she’s into you, and unless you’re ready to give her your all, you’ll end up hurting her again.” He rubs his jaw, looking away for a second before staring back into my eyes. “But if that’s a closed chapter—if you think Primrose might be the right person for you, be honest, Logan. Don’t let this good thing go because you’re afraid. Just tell her how you feel.”

I don’t say a word, the memory of the pain disfiguring her face making me want to scream.

“But before you decide, maybe you could...” With a pleading voice, he whispers, “Talk to Josie. Please.”

It feels like a beg. Like he’s bleeding out, and he needs me to get this over with. To have the conversation that will finally put an end to all the drama and doubts.

And even though I hate him, I know how that feels better than anyone else. “Okay.”

He nods, his shoulders shaking as he looks down at the steps.

I remember when I was right there, crying just like he is. When he and Josie caused me so much pain, every breath felt like dying.

It still doesn’t compare to how I feel about losing Primrose, because tonight, I feel numb. By leaving, she’s taken everything worthwhile in me. She’s stripped me of the essentials, and I hate it.

I hate every minute of it.

I walk into the living room, all of Primrose’s things still scattered about. Her cardigan is on the couch, and the piglets have chosen it as their bed. There’s makeup on the bookshelf, books on the floor, and once I pull her scrunchie out of my pocket, the pain almost has me crouching on the floor.

The ghost of her. That’s all I have left.

* * *

“Hi.”

I twist my neck and throw a look at Josie, standing by the fridge. She’s wearing one of my shirts, and her hair is wet after the shower I forced her to take. “Hello,” I mumble as she walks closer.

This is so uncomfortable.

She is here wearing my clothes, taking a shower in my bathroom, then coming out here like this is still her house. Maybe it wouldn’t have been weird two weeks ago, and we would have slipped into its familiarity. But it feels wrong today—like she’s unsuccessfully trying to fill Primrose’s spot.

“You know where the cups are,” I mumble as I walk out of the kitchen and into the living room.

I drop on the couch as I hear her pour coffee, then open the fridge for milk. She probably realizes I only have almond milk, which she hates, and she closes it with a huff.

Just like a hundred times before.

She comes out, then slowly walks by my side and sits on the couch. There’s a long silence in which she probably ponders what to say. What I think about, instead, is how I screwed up something that was barely even born.