Forgotten Promises (The Promises Series Book 2) by Elle Brooks Page A

tell me now?” Her voice sounds muffled as she speaks into my chest, where her head rests.
    “It would be quicker to tell you all the things that are right, instead of detailing everything that’s not.” I pause, wondering what possessed me to answer like that. Now she’ll definitely push for answers. I watch as she rolls onto her stomach and shuffles trying to find a comfy position before she props her head up on her palms. She’s no doubt making herself cozy, anticipating that I’ll elaborate. So that’s what I do. I take a deep breath and hit her with it.
    “Where do you want me to start? My dad needs life-saving surgery, except he’s too weak to undergo it at the moment, and instead of being worried about the fact that he might not pull through, I’m nervous that he will. How screwed up is that? I mean, what kind of person thinks like this?”
    She doesn’t skip a beat in answering. “The kind who’s had to deal with a lifetime of cruelty that’s who. Baby, if you ask me, what you’re feeling is probably an entirely valid and reasonable response. He has been such a negative force in your life that it’s understandable you would want it to end.”
    “That’s the thing though, Blair; I’m not wishing for all of the crap to stop, for him to miraculously decide that he doesn’t hate me anymore. I’m wishing him dead. That’s not normal, Princess, it's fucked up by anyone’s standards. I don’t expect you to tell me it’s okay, I already know it’s not.” I cough, trying to dislodge the pitiful whiney tone my voice has adopted. That taste of disdain is acrid on my tongue. “You want to know what freaks me out the most, though?” I ask as I push myself into a sitting position, resting my back against the cold hard panels of the wooden headboard. I figure I’m on a roll; I need to get this out now or I’ll never say it out loud.
    “What?” Her glasses slip off the bridge of her nose from the frown marring her face. I reach forward and push them gently back into place, mesmerized momentarily by the brief touch of her soft skin against my callused fingertips. Her eyes are glinting like emeralds as she waits for me to continue. I exhale, causing a loose strand of her hair to dance across her forehead.
    “It’s not feeling any different. I’ve ambled along numbly for as long as I can remember, shutting everything off so that I don’t have to deal with whatever he decides to throw at me. What happens if he dies and I’m still like this? Just an empty vessel existing day by day, anesthetized inside.”
    I observe the moment my words sink in; pain—or perhaps sympathy—moves across her face, and the room suddenly feels too small; the space between us thick with tension.
    “I think maybe something is broken inside of me, you know? Like the part of me that used to care about him—hell, the same part that used to care about me, even. I've repressed it for so long, what if it never comes back? I have these weird thoughts, kind of like daydreams. I can be tuning my guitar, or playing a piece on the piano and zone out. Suddenly I’ll be with my dad, he’s beating my ass and I’m letting it happen, but he doesn’t tire like normal. He keeps whaling on me until I lose consciousness, but I can make out that he’s shouting at me, ‘Why won't you just die?’ Then I think to myself that maybe it would be better if I did.”
    It’s not until the sound of her sob escapes into the quiet room that I truly realize what I’ve just said. I can’t decide if it’s shock, worry or horror in her stare; maybe it’s all three.
    “Don’t cry, Princess, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said all that. I’m tired, I guess.” Her tears are hot against the pad of my thumb as I run it over her wet cheeks.
    “Ethan…I,” she can't manage to verbalize the rest of her sentence, her cries are making her breath stutter.
    “Hey, shush…I’m a dick. I don’t even know why I said that. My head hurts, and I’m