the recovery project [2]

1 1 9

preston

his heart aches for her.

aches for her touch, for her mouth— for anything. he needs vivian right now, to kiss him or shut him up, to do something to make him forget. he just needs to forget—

"preston," she rubs his shoulder soothingly as his head rests on her stomach, the two on her king-sized bed. "talk to me. please."

he swallows another lump in his throat, eyes watering as he stares at the ceiling. "i don't want to talk about it."

"i don't care," she frowns, anger flashing in her chocolate eyes. "tell me what happened."

they sit in silence for a few minutes, and he wipes his eyes hastily when a few tears roll down his face. "that fancy apartment... it isn't mine."

"so you what; stole it?" she asks in disbelief, because they both know that the question is nowhere near the truth.

"it was given to me," he chokes, his nails digging into his palms. the ocean's waves inside of him have turned into a tsunami, consuming him. "by my dad..."

she squeezes his shoulder, signaling him to continue.

"he fucking left me, vivian. he's dead, he's dead, he's dead. and i could do anything to save him. i-i did nothing." the sobs tear through his body, and all he can feel is himself drowning,

drowning,

drowning.

and he doesn't know when he will resurface.