Six wasn’t the hero I needed.
But he was the man I wanted.
And it was my selfish craving, the desire to own him, that would be our undoing.
No one tells you that love is a disease. An infection that tears your heart apart, leaving you half the person you were before. A malady that leaves open wounds. An invisible disorder tracing scars in the places you couldn’t see if you weren’t looking for them.
I was sick, but love didn’t heal me.
Instead, it festered in my marrow, and drove me to unforgivable mistakes.
Six was my first mistake, but he wouldn’t be the last.
Six was always there, even when I didn’t want him.
But he couldn’t hold me together, and I couldn’t be his penance.
Loss is a phantom limb. No one can see it, but the ache torments you in the night, distracts you during the day, and leaves you fragmented. I’m half a heart, half a soul, and nothing could cure the pieces he’d left behind.
Losing him was safer than loving him. Because the love that kept us coming back again and again was nothing short of madness.
But then, isn’t mad love the most honest?
Whitney Barbetti is really, truly awful at writing in the third person, so we’re just going to change this bio up a bit and write it as first person.
I am married with two boys. When I’m not changing diapers or cutting food into tiny bites, I escape to Starbucks for hours. My blood pressure actually drops the moment I walk in, hear the baristas call my name, and inhale the aroma of coffee beans. And I don’t even like coffee.
I love music and have a playlist for everything. Queen is my very favorite.
I like watching creepy shows when I am home alone but then I instantly regret them once my mind starts breeding irrational fears. I try to channel my fears into my books as a way to cope.
I have about 20 bacon things in my fridge.