Fuck.

I bought them when I felt unloved, unappreciated, unwanted.

Forty-One

STORY

* * *

The first snow of the season fell later that night. I stared outside as the soft flakes blanketed the beach in a soft powder, my thumbs swiping across my stomach. Abigail’s Finsta lesson was still fresh in my mind…I could be anyone I wanted to be on the internet. I didn’t have to be Cinderella. I didn’t have to be the Stepsister Slut.

I didn’t even have to be Story.

I already know the world should listen to you. How you say it is irrelevant.

Grayson’s sweet words tumbled around my skull.

Maybe I wasn’t ready for the world to know who I was.

Maybe I never would be.

But I could make an account, and I could share my poetry. I could share everything, all the words I couldn’t say to Grayson because we no longer slept beside one another.

I made an account and typed my first letter.

Dear Atlas, you were meant to hold up the world, is that why you can’t let me go?

I’d barely finished making my first post when there was a soft knock on my door. My heart jumped into my throat, and I shoved my phone away.

My Atlas himself leaned against the frame, head down so his messy blond hair covered his eyes. He had a bottle of whiskey in one hand and a sucker in his mouth. I hated that I both loved and worried over the sight.

“I bought this to share when Woodsy died.” He held up the bottle of whiskey, which looked expensive. “Obviously…it’s inappropriate now.”

“You shouldn’t be here,” I said.

“Truce, Snitch.”

I needed to say no.

We had to stop doing this.

It made it so much harder to think about leaving. It made it impossible to look at him as a friend. It made it harder to hate him when he turned off his affection.

He shook the bottle slightly, lifting his head just enough so I could see the smallest smile play on his rose petal lips, enough to crack and crumble my defenses.

I nodded slightly.

He sat on the floor, resting against my bed. It was almost as though we were in high school and he’d snuck into my room.

But I had a husband, he had a wife, and I was pregnant with his baby.

We both stared out the window as snow fell harder and harder.

“I’ve been wondering for a while…You haven’t stopped calling me Snitch, but your voice is soft. It sounds like a term of endearment.”

He was quiet for so long I thought he wouldn’t respond, but then he took a drink of whiskey and said, “You’re my Snitch, you spill all your secrets to me. You’re the only one who does that.”

My heart stuttered and stopped.

Tags: Mary Catherine Gebhard Crowne Point Erotic
Source: readsnovelonline.net