ch. 22 • flutters and tattoos

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Am I a horrible person? I feel like one

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Am I a horrible person? I feel like one.

I'm here, smiling and giggling, with butterflies filling up my body while Foxy is dead. Her ashes spread out among our homestead in Colorado.

I'm overwhelmed with guilt and it's coming in the form of fucking crying at the worst time.

"Shiiit, girly. You alright?" Bash steps into the gross stall, filling up the already cramped space instantly with his large body, and lifts a hand to rub my arm but rather stuffs both hands into his pockets.

Thank God I don't have make-up on, otherwise, it would be everywhere and I'd be making a bigger fool out of myself.

"No." I admit, "I shouldn't fu-fucking be doing this."

Foxy is dead and I'm riding a motorcycle, having fun, forgetting why I'm here-- forgetting her.

Bash exhales a long breath of understanding, "Come on, now. You haven't done anything wrong."

"It feels like I have. She's dead and I'm having fun, laughing, and going to a fucking party on Saturday."

"You're entitled to be happy again. She wouldn't want you to be bloody depressed and shit, would she?"

No

She'd be pissed at me for not jumping this guy's bones the first day I met him.

"I promised myself I would stop crying but all I've been doing since I got here is crying and getting you and everyone else in trouble." Not to mention I've inconvenienced Chyette as well as Giselle.

"Have a cry, nobody cares, and if they do they can piss off. But you are allowed to have some fun, Aspen." He tells me while I reach under the toilet roll dispenser and grab for more but find it's empty.

Bash takes notice and exits the stall we're in then goes to the next one over and returns with the entire roll of toilet paper and hands it to me. I sniffle and mutter, "Thanks. Usually, I'm not like this." I say, wanting to defend myself.

But then I press the fresh tissue to my watering eyes when I realize this is me now. This is who I've become after a piece, a large piece, died in April.

"Don't worry about what I think. However, could we cry outside this toilet? I saw a tampon on the floor in the other stall, and it was used."

A laugh expels quickly from my lips and I nod.

He smiles, that charming smile I saw in the photograph with that older woman and it makes me forget for a half-second that I'm feeling like shit.

I follow him out and we trudge up the slight embankment back to the pavement and parked motorcycle.

Curiosity gets the better of me while I think of Foxy and also that woman in the picture so I ask him while dabbing my face dry with the stolen toilet paper, "Do you have any siblings?"

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