Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 76710 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 384(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76710 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 384(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
We lock eyes for long seconds, much too long to be considered safe when driving. Finally, he peels his gaze from me. He’s quiet for the rest of the ride home, but he’s thinking so hard I can practically hear his thoughts. Just as he pulls into the driveway, his phone flashes with an incoming call. He quickly silences it, flipping it facedown onto his jean-covered thigh.
“I’ll be there in a few,” he tells me, and I take that as my not-so-subtle hint to go inside.
“Thanks for the ride,” I mutter, grabbing my backpack before hopping out and shutting the car door none too gently. These secrets of his are driving me insane.
Once inside, I kick off my boots before plodding up the wooden stairs that feel cold underneath my tights-covered feet. I toss my backpack onto my bed and unzip the front pocket, feeling around for my phone. Unsurprisingly, there are multiple texts from my mom.
Hi, honey. Miss you!
Have you had a chance to go through your dad’s things?
Sending peace, love, and light. Xoxoxo.
I roll my eyes, huffing out a laugh at that last one. She was one hundred percent high when she sent that. And what part of “I’m not ready” does she not understand? Just the thought of sorting through my dad’s things has me on the verge of a panic attack. I can’t explain it.
Tossing my phone onto my bed, I grab my headphones, then blindly reach for a CD out of my case. I’m a mood listener—have a mix CD for every occasion—but right now, I just need something loud. Anything will do. I pop it in, snapping the lid shut before fitting the headphones around my neck.
The faint sound of Rise Against hits my ears as my curiosity has me moving toward the window that overlooks the front yard. Pulling back the curtain, I spot Jess standing outside his car, phone to his ear. He starts to pace the driveway, gesticulating wildly. I part the curtain a little more to get a better look, cocking my head to the side, transfixed with his every move. Suddenly, he stops his pacing, his bicep flexing as he drags his free hand through his hair. He angles his body toward the window and lifts his chin, then he’s looking directly at me—or at least, it seems that way.
I release the curtain like it burned me, jumping out of sight. Probably not the smoothest course of action. I shake my head, internally chastising myself for my spastic behavior. I hate that I turn into such a girl when it comes to him.
I hear his car door slam shut once more, and I’m not at all surprised at the fact that he’s leaving. Again.
Shoving my disappointment deep down into that box I place all unpleasant thoughts, I unbutton my jean shorts, pushing them down my legs, along with my tights. I swap them out for a comfy pair of track shorts that, ironically enough, have never seen a track a day in their life. Plucking my laptop from my bed, I lie on my stomach, pulling up the design I’ve been working on for the show Friday. I fit my headphones over my ears and slide the volume dial all the way up. Maybe if it’s loud enough, it will drown out all thoughts of my dad and Jess.
* * *
IF MY STEERING WHEEL WERE a neck, it would have snapped under the pressure of my clenched hands by now. I can’t bring myself to drive away this time. Every time I think I’ve successfully separated myself from my past, and I feel like I’m moving forward, something happens to pull me right back under. This time, it came in the form of a phone call from the devil herself. It seems the more I pull away, the more she latches on.
Not today, Satan.
Between that and my run-in with Henry earlier, I’m feeling more than a little on edge. I reach under the passenger seat, feeling for the bottle of Jack that I know is there, wanting to feel that familiar burn that’s guaranteed to chase away all the guilt and self-loathing. At least for a few hours. Instead, I find the bundle of Dum-Dums Allie left behind. Still bent over, my eyes shift to her window again, seeking her out, but I don’t see her this time. I throw the suckers onto the seat, then reach back down, feeling around again until my fingers meet cold glass.
The half-empty bottle feels cold and heavy in my hand. I unscrew the cap, then tip it back, letting the liquid burn my throat. I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand, reveling in the burn. But it’s not enough. I go back for a second swig, hesitating once the bottle is at my lips. Screwing the cap back on, I toss the bottle into the back somewhere, setting my sights on the suckers.