Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 98892 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 494(@200wpm)___ 396(@250wpm)___ 330(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98892 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 494(@200wpm)___ 396(@250wpm)___ 330(@300wpm)
“I think about it every single day. When a memory continuously lives inside your mind, it begins to feel like torture. Like you can’t escape this fake reality you’ve created out of pure negativity. I didn’t want to start this podcast like this, and we will circle back to what I said earlier later in the podcast. Oh god, I’ve probably lost you already, but listen, I’ve got things to say, and until I’ve finished telling them, I’ll keep recording. This is more like my diary than it is for listeners.”
She coughs quietly, and then it goes silent as she takes a sip of water.
“Sorry. Needed some vodka to get through this episode. You know, since I’m off to such a great start already.”
Okay, so it was vodka.
“I need to start this by going all the way back to my younger days. To the times where I roamed through the streets without a clue what the world had to offer me. Even at the age of twelve, I learned to fend for myself. The system didn’t want me, and family? I didn’t have any. Not that that mattered to me. Family is a word with no meaning to someone like me. I guess through these episodes you’re going to find out why.”
She coughs again, and I look up to our apartment building, shocked to already see it. I take out my pods and put them into my jacket pocket before making my way through the doors. Our apartment building would be an upper-class hotel if this town was big enough to need one.
Halsin is a small town consisting of—I don’t know—I want to say ten thousand people. Not small, but for what goes on in it… you’d wish it was bigger.
I punch in my access code to the private elevator and then again once I’m inside, watching the numbers rise as it takes me up. My phone starts ringing in my hand, and when I see Cece’s name flash across the screen, I sigh, swiping it unlocked.
“What time are we meeting for pre-drinks?”
Over the years, I don’t think any of us have really changed. We haven’t aged, just matured enough to pay bills and work. Every time one of us has an inconvenience in life, we plan a huddle and drink over it. I sit and listen as they dump everything on me, and we move on. I don’t know if either of them has ever noticed, but not one time have I needed—no—wanted to dump on them. For more than one reason.
I check myself in the mirror for the first and final time, running my fingers through my dark hair. Every summer I consider chopping a thick chunk off since it feels painfully close to wearing a furnace around my neck all day long, but tonight, I’ve left it down. Even though I know I’m going to want to tie it up thirty minutes into my first porn star martini. My makeup is about as heavy as my hair, with dark-lined eyes and thick mascara. It’s all just enough to make my already vibrant green eyes pop.
I’m wearing a bright-green silk crop top, which happens to complement my olive skin and black high-waisted jeans. It’s comfortable enough to show I’m not trying too hard, and easy enough to dance in.
I run my tongue over my teeth, making sure to check for any food before grabbing my Balenciaga clutch off the dresser and making my way out of the master bedroom. My apartment is cozy, but I always find myself itchy to escape. As if the confinement of it scratches over my skin. Every second that ticks by in this house, the walls close in an inch. It doesn’t matter that the pretty view from the main living area gives a bird’s-eye view of the small town below. Beauty is the deadliest curse of all because it tricks you into thinking you’re attracted to it.
The apartment came already designed in an aesthetic that I liked, industrial fittings and black marble. I just added touches here and there, like photos of my friends in thick black frames hanging in no particular order, a cheap art piece I found in a basement store in Seattle, and a comfortable couch. If the walls were closing in, I’d die in style.
I was grateful for Luca to have left all of that to me.
The elevator pings open and I wave to the doorman who stands at the entry as I make my way down the central street of Halsin. Halsin was founded during some 1700s era by four families who built the town around the river. Back then, people moved through the township via runabouts, and the shop doors would open onto planks where locals would dock and grab what they needed from local markets. All of that still exists in “Old” Halsin, which is on the other side of the town from where we are right now, a.k.a. “New” Halsin. Thankfully for me, the restaurant isn’t far to get to, and it’s not until I’m pulling out my phone again to check my messages—mainly to see if Cece is going to be late again—when I hear it.