Hazel Eyes and Peaches

chapter 9:

It's been a while since I have felt so cared for. I know Westin does, but sometimes, I feel as though it's out of obligation. When he found out what my father was doing to me, the only thing he could do was take me in. I think he's always blamed himself for not seeing it earlier, but I don't think it's his fault at all. 

We were both in a situation that wasn't beneficial or positive to either of us, whether we knew it or not. Westin did what he had to do to have the best life, which was to get out of there. He's only five years older than me - twenty-three being his age -, he's got his own life and his own experiences he wants to have. 

He's in college, getting his psychology master's degree while also working for Special Civilian Services. He's got friends and things to deal with. I know he loves me, but he didn't choose to be my guardian. He didn't choose to have to take care of me for about five years now.

I was thirteen when he took me in, and he was having his own problems. He then takes in an abused, depressed, self-harming, teenage girl who has been through extreme trauma. Looking back, I can understand why he used to get so upset at me. 

There were times in our relationship where we wouldn't talk for a couple of days, Westin mostly needing a break from dealing with me. It's not that he didn't care for me, but I was a lot for him to take on. He was an eighteen-year-old who was in college, trying to get a job and pay bills while also having to care for me but have a social life. 

It was a stressful time for him, and I know that it's not over, but now that I'm older, he doesn't have to deal so closely with me. He looks happier than I have ever seen him. And I have to fix my problems now, even though that can be hard sometimes.

However, it's nice having Clay to hold me. I like the way he cradles dainty me in his arms as if I were a piece of fine china. His fingers dip under my shirt, scratching at the small of my back. I sigh in relief, placing my face into the place where his neck and shoulder meet. 

My hands make their way into his brown, flopped-over hair, pulling softly at the ends and scratching at the scalp. He squeezes me slightly tighter, the bear hug lasting longer than I thought it would, but I'm not complaining. A light kiss is placed on my neck, his tree-trunk arms finally releasing me from his benevolent grip. 

I brush my lips against his cheek - his hot breath on my ear sending shivers down my spine - as I pull away from him. I climb off the straddling position on his lap and stand above his large frame. He pushes his body off the floor, once again standing imposingly.

"You're so fucking beautiful."

My eyes widen at his compliment, no one has called me beautiful before. I've called myself beautiful, but to hear some else say it...that's a completely different feeling. Especially coming from him. He's gorgeous, sweet, and compassionate. It's very heartwarming to know that he thinks I'm beautiful because he wouldn't lie about it.

"Thank you. I haven't-no, it doesn't matter."

"You haven't what? Tell me."

"I haven't gotten a compliment like that in a long time."

"You deserve more than."

"There's not a lot of people in my life who would."

"You've got me now, yes?"

"I would like to think so."

He presses a lingering kiss to my head, smiling at me, before hearing Westin call his name. With acquiesce, he backs out of my bedroom but leaves the door wide open. I cannot believe I am such an idiot. Why do I do this? Why do I move on so fast? Why do I always want to be with someone else? Why has the man become my new crush in less than twelve hours? 

I don't understand why I keep finding someone to spend time and effort trying to be with to only have them leave. Why do I do that to myself? Just like Mark, just like Nathan, just like Alex, just like Xavier, he's going to break my heart. 

And I haven't even been broken up with Mark for two days. He technically didn't even say anything to me, so what does that mean? I'm guessing we aren't together, he called me ugly to my face (which he is right about in certain aspects). I don't understand myself.

I run my hands through my hair, pulling at the ends of the strands. I glance around my bedroom, and a heavy feeling rests on my chest. I climb halfway into the bedsheets, kicking my shoes off onto the floor before tucking my whole body under the heat. 

I close my eyes, trying not to think about my parents or my past heartbreaks or the terrible suffering I cause other people. My fists clench involuntarily, and I have to slowly ease them out of the tight hold. I grab my thighs, my nails digging into my skin. No, stop. 

I yank my hands away from my body and cradle them together out in front of me. Tears, for the hundredth time since I'm such a cry baby, gather in my eyes, but I desperately try to brush them away. It doesn't take long for exhaustion to take over me completely, and my eyes flutter closed as I gradually fall asleep.