A motor-mouth southern belle tries playing detective only to collide with a dangerously sexy biker.
Ellie Robinson takes it upon herself to secretly vacay to Sunny Valley, Alabama, on her best friend's behalf. There, Ellie uncovers a shocking truth...
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Piece by piece I'm torn apart. It's as if I'm a toy soldier and grief is a toddler who's too young to play with me, snapping parts of me off right out of the sockets.
My arm.
My leg.
My head
Until all that's left is a broken, disfigured toy solider, splayed out, chewed on and destined for the trash can.
I suck a dealing with loss.
I have heard the saying that grief is all your unexpressed love. But what about situations like mine? There's no love, expressed or unexpressed. All there is... is pain.
I hated my old man and yet here I am, still mourning someone who's caused so much damage in my life. A calloused man who has only ever cared about himself.
He was a failure of a father.
Of a man.
He killed my baby sister, had me shoot my brother, tried to gut me, and was the reason Ellie got hurt.
And yet...
This pain in my heart won't go away. I don't know what it is. I only know what it feels like. And right now the bloody fluids pumping in my veins have been replaced with gallons of thick murky pond water. The kind you're afraid to dip even your toe in. It's rolling inside of me, contaminating and poisoning my system.
Groaning my hands dig into my hair and yank on my locks until some of the pain helps alleviate my stress. I don't really understand why I'm wasting away.
I keep thinking of what Ellie had said, how it's because that thin blade of hope is gone. That he would change. But is that it? I don't know. I wish I could get a straight up answer, but I think, in my case, I'll never really understand why. It's not so black and white.
My frustrations are hitting an all-time high. I'm so angry and bitter that all the thoughts swirling around in my head are like a tornado and I can't grip a single thought.
I've been sitting on this bed for hours, unable to sleep and I'm pretty sure I have imprinted the mattress forever. My fingers rub together and I glance around Quinn's guest bedroom, counting all the random items sitting around, taking in deep breaths as I do. This time my usual strategy doesn't work and my leg is bouncing up and down, shaking the bed frame.
I rip my body off the bed, grabbing a shirt and quickly getting dressed. I have to get away from myself, turn my brain off. I'm too overwhelmed.
At this rate, with how much I'm rubbing my forefinger and thumb together, my skin is going to peel off like scales of a snake. While my throat hurts, a rusted knife of grief lodged in it causing me to take random harsh breaths to make sure I can still breathe.
