There is nothing more beautiful than watching an innocent angel fall apart at my sinful actions. I'm going to ruin her.
"Augustine."
And she comes, looking down at me as she does so.
She glows, lighting up the goddamn room. Her feet barely touch t...
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It had taken what felt like hours of convincing for Emilio to finally agree with me. I even showed him old bank records to convince him we were going to end up in debt if we didn't sell the house soon. He believed it, and I started crying just in case he needed an extra push.
Then I felt bad for lying to him, and now I just find myself dreading whatever place I'm being sent to.
Emilio had been shocked and a little confused when I said I already found an agent who would put us on the market, but he doesn't know too much about those things anyway.
As I run my hands over the folded bed sheets, the smell of Eros's cologne still lingers on them. My body freezes momentarily at the reminder of what we did last week, and suddenly I feel everything all over again.
I shove my books into a box, grateful for the lack of belongings I own. It would make moving a whole lot harder otherwise. Emilio was fine about staying with Reign, and it seems as though someone had warned him before Emilio stopped by yesterday. Emilio told me that Reign said he understood, and that the change would be good for us.
But for all I know, this address could lead me to a fucking homeless shelter.
My phone rings for the second time this morning, and I rub my eyes in exhaustion. I've been ignoring everyone like the plague, and it was finally catching up to me.
Eros was definitely mad at me for not answering earlier in the week, but he hadn't texted, so I assumed it wasn't urgent.
"Hello?" I answer, placing my phone against my ear. I didn't even check the caller ID, but I immediately know it's him by his immediate reaction.
"Is your phone broken?" his deep voice rasps.
"No," I mumble, slipping my winter clothes into a separate bag.
"Then answer when I fucking call you," he demands, and I inhale suddenly at his sharp anger.
"I'm sorry...I've just been trying to keep everything together here," I reply, even though it's not an excuse. He's silent for another five seconds after my words, and I know he's upset.
"I was..." he started, "Fuck. I was worried."
My heart swells. He was worried about me? Guilt travels low inside of me, and I hate making him feel that way.
"I'm really sorry. I should've just texted," I said, emptying my nightstand. I pause when I come across the framed picture of my family. I shove it in the box before I can let the grief set in.
"When are you leaving?" Eros asks me, almost as if he knows I'm packing up the last of my stuff now.
"In a few hours. I have to make sure I haven't left anything here," I answer. "What is that address anyway? You better not be sending me to a homeless shelter."
