Solitude (Artistic Pricks Ink #3) by Cat Mason Read Free Book Online

since the day I was shot, things with Mitch and me keep evolving to something different. When any other time I’d laugh and ask if he’s afraid of the dark, his simple plea has rendered me speechless and I can only do one thing.
    Nodding, I kick off my shoes and climb onto the bed beside him.
    “Did you ever think that God was fucking with you?” he asks, rolling onto his back. “That even if you found something or someone that makes you happy, you know you don’t deserve to get to keep it?”
    Rolling onto my side, I reach out and brush the black hair from his forehead as he stares at me. “It’s all a matter of how you choose to see it, Mitch. You can accept what your life is now,” I say, softly, “Or you can decide to change it. Your scars shape you, but don’t let them break you.”
    “I feel so alone,” he whispers.
    “You’re not alone,” I reply, “I’m right here.”
    Pushing me to my back, Mitch’s arm wraps around my waist, his head coming to rest on my lap. Burying his face in my stomach, he sobs. His body shakes violently, causing mine to jolt along with him . Wrapping my arms around him as best I can, I hold him while he falls apart. Tonight, I’ll give him this because I know he needs it. He doesn’t say another word, but then neither do I. There is no reason to add needless conversation to a moment I can’t begin to explain or understand. All I know is that Mitch needs me right now, and for whatever reason, I am okay with that.
     

Chapter Six
Mitch
     
    My head pounds so hard my entire body feels like someone shoved me in a paint shaker. Rolling over, I wrap the pillow around my head, hoping to drown out the blinding sun shining in the window, even though I know I should get up.
    The bed shifts beside me and I smile. Sleepily, I reach out with one hand, wanting to feel the warmth of her body pressed against mine.
    Then, just like every other time, reality comes crashing back and I remember. She’s gone. Rolling to my back, I sigh, hating that it still feels like Becky is beside me, even though I know she isn’t. My memory plays tricks on me, my cruel subconscious torturing me with all the things that were and never can be again.
    A shrill beeping goes off beside me, making me jump. Just as I feel the bed move again, I hear a very feminine moan.
    What the fuck?
    Reaching out again, my hand brushes over something soft and warm.
    “If you want to keep your hand, cocknugget, I suggest you get it off my ass.”
    Throwing the pillow away, I leap to my feet. My eyes widen when I see Shelby roll over and sit up in my bed. She fumbles with her cell phone to silence the alarm that has my ears about to bleed. “The hell?” I shout, then grab my head with both hands because my own voice sounds like an atomic bomb exploding inside my head. “Ow, shit.”
    “Yeah, I’ll bet that hurt,” Shelby says, shoving her phone down the front of her black v-neck t-shirt, into her bra.
    “What, why, how?” I ask, still clutching my head, as if my hands are the only thing keeping it attached.
    Kicking her legs out from under a quilt my mother made me, Shelby stands to her feet. Her neon green toe nails drawing my attention before I drag my eyes up her body to meet her insanely blue eyes. The blue churns with these crazy green bursts and, though I have noticed how the color changes before, now, they suck me in.
    “Someone called the shop about some drunken twatface bothering bar owners and drinking up all their vodka so I had to pick him up,” she explains, bending down to pick up her shoes before meeting my eyes again. “Once I drove him all the way across town and managed to get his big ass into his bed, he begged me not to leave.”
    Memories flood back of me arguing with her, falling in the yard and screaming at the sky, not to mention my dinner with Ma and her leisure suit wearing man. Could I have been more of an asshole? I have never been rude or mean to my mother, let alone in front of guests.