She’s nothing I’ve ever wanted in a girl. And absolutely everything I need.
I hear the water in the shower start running, so I immediately roll off the bed and walk into the bathroom. My heart tightens a little when the doorknob turns and I realize she didn’t lock it behind her. I know this sign means she wants me to follow her. What she wants me to do once I’m inside this bathroom is a mystery, though. Does she want me to take her against the shower wall? Does she want me to apologize to her? Does she want me to talk to her?
I don’t know with her. I never know. So, I do what I always do and wait for her to show me what she needs. I walk into the bathroom and grab a towel to wipe all the damn cream out of my hair. I get as much out as I can and then close the lid to the toilet and take a seat on it, listening quietly as she continues her shower. I know she knows I’m in here, but she doesn’t speak. I’d even take her insults right now if it meant she would say something to alleviate the silence.
I lean forward and clasp my hands between my knees. “Does this scare you, Bridgette?”
I know she hears me, but she doesn’t answer. That means yes.
I let my head fall into my hands and I vow to remain calm. This is how she relates. She doesn’t know any different. Somehow, over the course of her twenty-two years, she’s never learned how to love, or even communicate, really. That’s not her fault.
“Have you ever been in love before?”
It’s a slightly generic question. I don’t ask if she could fall in love with me specifically, so maybe the question won’t piss her off.
I hear a relenting sigh come from behind the shower curtain. “I think it takes being loved in order to know how to love,” she says quietly. “So I guess that’s a no.”
I wince at her answer. What a sad, sad answer. One I wasn’t expecting.
“You can’t really believe that, Bridgette.”
Silence follows. She doesn’t reply.
“Your mother loved you,” I say to her.
“My mother gave me to my grandmother when I was six months old.”
“I’m sure your grandmother loved you.”
A quiet, pained laugh comes from the shower. “I’m sure she did, but not enough to stay alive for more than a year. After she died I lived with my aunt, who made it very obvious that she didn’t love me. My uncle did, though. Just in all the wrong ways.”
I squeeze my eyes shut and allow her words to sink in. Brennan wasn’t kidding when he said she’s had a rough life. And she’s so casual about it, like she’s just accepted that this is the kind of life she was given and there’s nothing she can do about it. A mixture of anger and sadness consumes me.
“Bridgette . . .”
“Don’t bother, Warren. I’ve dealt with my life the only way I know how. It works for me, and I don’t need you or anyone else to try and figure me out, or fix me. I am who I am and I’ve accepted that.”
I clamp my mouth shut and don’t offer her words of advice. I wouldn’t know what to say anyway. I feel awful for wanting to prod her with more questions after that revelation, but I’m not sure when I’ll get this side of her again. Bridgette doesn’t open up easily, and now I can see why. She doesn’t seem to have had anyone to open up to, so this might be a first for her.
“What about your sister?”
Bridgette releases a sigh. “She’s not even my real sister. We’re stepsisters, and we didn’t even grow up in the same house.”
I should stop with the questions. I know I should, but I can’t. To know that she’s probably never spoken or heard the words “I love you” from anyone in her life is affecting me way more than I imagined it could.
“I’m sure you’ve had boyfriends who have loved you in the past.”
She laughs a really sad laugh, and then she just sighs an even sadder sigh. “If you’re planning on asking me questions like this all night, I’d much rather you just fuck me.”
I cover my mouth with my hand, absorbing her words like a knife to the chest. She seriously can’t be this broken. No one can be this alone, can they?
“Have you ever loved anyone, Bridgette?”
Silence. Complete silence until her voice shatters it like glass. “It’s hard to fall in love with assholes, Warren.”
That’s a comment from a girl who’s been jaded way too many times. I stand up and slide the shower curtain open. She’s standing beneath the stream of water. Mascara has streaked its way down her cheeks.
“Maybe you just haven’t met the right asshole yet.”
I hear the water in the shower start running, so I immediately roll off the bed and walk into the bathroom. My heart tightens a little when the doorknob turns and I realize she didn’t lock it behind her. I know this sign means she wants me to follow her. What she wants me to do once I’m inside this bathroom is a mystery, though. Does she want me to take her against the shower wall? Does she want me to apologize to her? Does she want me to talk to her?
I don’t know with her. I never know. So, I do what I always do and wait for her to show me what she needs. I walk into the bathroom and grab a towel to wipe all the damn cream out of my hair. I get as much out as I can and then close the lid to the toilet and take a seat on it, listening quietly as she continues her shower. I know she knows I’m in here, but she doesn’t speak. I’d even take her insults right now if it meant she would say something to alleviate the silence.
I lean forward and clasp my hands between my knees. “Does this scare you, Bridgette?”
I know she hears me, but she doesn’t answer. That means yes.
I let my head fall into my hands and I vow to remain calm. This is how she relates. She doesn’t know any different. Somehow, over the course of her twenty-two years, she’s never learned how to love, or even communicate, really. That’s not her fault.
“Have you ever been in love before?”
It’s a slightly generic question. I don’t ask if she could fall in love with me specifically, so maybe the question won’t piss her off.
I hear a relenting sigh come from behind the shower curtain. “I think it takes being loved in order to know how to love,” she says quietly. “So I guess that’s a no.”
I wince at her answer. What a sad, sad answer. One I wasn’t expecting.
“You can’t really believe that, Bridgette.”
Silence follows. She doesn’t reply.
“Your mother loved you,” I say to her.
“My mother gave me to my grandmother when I was six months old.”
“I’m sure your grandmother loved you.”
A quiet, pained laugh comes from the shower. “I’m sure she did, but not enough to stay alive for more than a year. After she died I lived with my aunt, who made it very obvious that she didn’t love me. My uncle did, though. Just in all the wrong ways.”
I squeeze my eyes shut and allow her words to sink in. Brennan wasn’t kidding when he said she’s had a rough life. And she’s so casual about it, like she’s just accepted that this is the kind of life she was given and there’s nothing she can do about it. A mixture of anger and sadness consumes me.
“Bridgette . . .”
“Don’t bother, Warren. I’ve dealt with my life the only way I know how. It works for me, and I don’t need you or anyone else to try and figure me out, or fix me. I am who I am and I’ve accepted that.”
I clamp my mouth shut and don’t offer her words of advice. I wouldn’t know what to say anyway. I feel awful for wanting to prod her with more questions after that revelation, but I’m not sure when I’ll get this side of her again. Bridgette doesn’t open up easily, and now I can see why. She doesn’t seem to have had anyone to open up to, so this might be a first for her.
“What about your sister?”
Bridgette releases a sigh. “She’s not even my real sister. We’re stepsisters, and we didn’t even grow up in the same house.”
I should stop with the questions. I know I should, but I can’t. To know that she’s probably never spoken or heard the words “I love you” from anyone in her life is affecting me way more than I imagined it could.
“I’m sure you’ve had boyfriends who have loved you in the past.”
She laughs a really sad laugh, and then she just sighs an even sadder sigh. “If you’re planning on asking me questions like this all night, I’d much rather you just fuck me.”
I cover my mouth with my hand, absorbing her words like a knife to the chest. She seriously can’t be this broken. No one can be this alone, can they?
“Have you ever loved anyone, Bridgette?”
Silence. Complete silence until her voice shatters it like glass. “It’s hard to fall in love with assholes, Warren.”
That’s a comment from a girl who’s been jaded way too many times. I stand up and slide the shower curtain open. She’s standing beneath the stream of water. Mascara has streaked its way down her cheeks.
“Maybe you just haven’t met the right asshole yet.”
