Sins of September by Graysen Blue

at the moment.
    “I dunno. Thought maybe you needed some company after, you know, getting the news today.”
    He finishes off his beer. “Hey, wanna grab me another cold one?”
    “Sure.”
    When I set his fresh beer down on the coffee table, he’s watching me. “I didn’t mean to upset your plans for this evening. I’m fine, September. Don’t need a babysitter.”
    I turn and give him a glare. “Could’ve fooled me I guess.”
    His hand stops with the bottle of beer in mid-air. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
    I flop back against the sofa cushions and lean my head back. “I just don’t know how I should feel about this. I mean, it’s like I’m affected too, Jesse, but I can’t think about my feelings because I’ve got to make sure that you’re okay, I mean, do you even get that?”
    He slams his beer down onto the table, and turns to face me with blue eyes blazing. I’ve managed to piss him off.
    And I don’t give a shit.
    “No, I guess I don’t fucking get it. You might’ve turned eighteen, but I’m still the adult here. If I wanna sit in my own house and get fucking hammered for once, then by God I will do just that! I don’t need a teenager watching over me. She’s my wife , goddamit!
    “And she’s my mother !” I scream. “And she fucking left the both of us! Remember?”
    “Hell yes I remember.”
    “Then why— why are you so fucked up over this? I mean, do you hope she’s alive? Will you try and find her? What then? If you find her will you beg her to come back? Will you forgive her everything?”
    I’m on a roll now but every word that I’m spewing is the absolute truth for once. No games. No pretenses. I want to know how he feels.
    He takes a moment to calm himself because I’ve hit a couple of nerves. “Maybe I will,” he replies. “God knows I loved her. She was the first woman, hell—she’s the only woman that I’ve ever loved. I gave her everything—every fucking thing including my heart, but it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t . . . enough .”
    He shrugs; a look of total defeat washes over him.
    “So that’s it? What? I mean are you gonna go through the rest of your life holding onto something—to someone—whether she’s dead or alive, that makes you feel the way you feel right this damn minute?”
    I look into his eyes because I want to hear it from him. I want to know why he feels the need to punish himself for what she did.
    He takes another sip of his beer, and shrugs. “Shit, maybe so. Maybe it’s what I deserve for not being enough, and not letting her be enough for herself.”
    I have no clue as to what he means by that. I simply throw out a retort for good measure. “That’s weak,” I mumble. “Pathetic and weak.”
    I start to get off the couch so that I can get away from his drunken ass. I can take almost anything except self-pity or self-loathing. I’ve no tolerance for it.
    His hand clamps around my wrist and I’m jerked back around to face him as he stands, pulling me up against him roughly. “What did you say?” he growls.
    “I-I think you’re acting weak,” I mumble, losing a bit of my courage.
    He cocks a brow as he studies me intently. “What would you know about love —or life or any of it?”
    “Maybe more than you think,” I reply softly, looking up at his beautiful, angry face, meeting his cool gaze with one of my own. Our conflicted eyes lock, and when they do, something passes between us; like a spark or something, and all I can think is that it’s about damn time.
    He pulls me closer. I wrap my arms around his strong neck, and tilt my face back a bit to give him ample access because this will happen. I’ve decided that.
    He captures my mouth with his roughly—almost savagely, but I don’t care. “Fuck you look so much like her ,” he growls, “I need to see if you taste like her too.”
    “Do it,” I dare.
    His tongue ravages my lips, parting them and swirling against mine, his teeth nip at my lower lip, tugging