Page 93 of Made for Cyn
I don’t know, but I feel so alone in this car that I pull out my phone and stare at the screen. He did tell me to text him, right?
Just to play it safe, though, and feeling the ridiculousness of my hesitation over texting my . . . boyfriend, I guess. I don’t even know and I roll my eyes to the heavens because really, could life be any more confusing?
Rain: I’m home
He immediately answers to my relief, and even though it’s a simple conversation, it brings me peace because I need the connection.
Cyn: Good
Cyn: You thinking about me? ;)
Hmm. With a wry smile, I respond.
Rain: Are you thinking about me?
Cyn: Beauty, I’m always thinking about you
Shit. I’m sure he’s talking about sex, but it still makes me warm, and, I’ll admit it, tingly. Desperate for the conversation not to be over, I continue because the longer I delay, the longer I don’t have to go inside.
Rain: Are you home?
But he doesn’t answer, and after a few minutes, I make myself get out of the car and walk toward the house. I don’t want to be here, but I can’t leave.
When I enter, it’s quiet, and I tiptoe upstairs, pausing outside my room when I hear moaning from Iris’. Slowly I creep down the hall and push her door open an inch, my stomach roiling when I see her over top Uncle John, riding him.
But before I can intervene, help, . . . anything, she moans and says, “Harder, John.”
My mind spins at what I’m seeing before me, and confused, I back away, locking myself in my room and laying across my bed. When my phone buzzes, I twitch, pulling it out to find another text from Cyn.
Not yet
But I don’t respond. Instead, I pull up the picture of him and trace his beautiful eyes and yummy chest before closing it out and turning over with a sigh.
Something’s got to give—before Iris loses her damn mind and me mine right behind her, because I don’t know her game, but I know it’s tearing her apart.
Chapter Fifteen
Iris is gone when I rise on Sunday. I’m uneasy being home with John, so I leave, disheartened that she would leave me alone with him. I guess she’s given up on me, so why do I continue to help her?
I miss my mom, my dad, and my brother, and I wish I hadn’t ever considered moving here, even though the thought of never having met Cyn leaves an aching void in my chest.
But the stakes are so high that I’m tempted just to go and save myself, which is a horrible notion that I set aside even if it brings me false comfort.
Eventually, I find myself at the bridge, and this time it’s quiet and empty, nary a person in sight.
Grabbing the railing, I drop down where Oscar usually sits, and contemplate texting Cyn, but I don’t know my boundaries. I don’t even know what’s going on, so instead, I lean against the rail and close my eyes.
I’m not sure how long I sit there, contemplating questions for which I have no answers, before Oscar appears beside me.
“Hey,” I rasp.
“Hey,” he says, looking me over with a frown. “How long have you been here?”
“I don’t know.”
Sighing, he looks out over the water, tapping his finger against the railing. “About my dad . . .”
“Yeah?” I turn toward him. I’d forgotten my questions from before about whether his dad had ever killed a man.
