Total pages in book: 171
Estimated words: 164459 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 822(@200wpm)___ 658(@250wpm)___ 548(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 164459 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 822(@200wpm)___ 658(@250wpm)___ 548(@300wpm)
There, it was so much darker, so much grittier, and much more terrifying.
Here? Well, there are rich people everywhere. They literally surround me. Faking their smiles and waves, joking about stupid things or talking about who they think will win tonight.
Everyone has his or her bets on Doomsday.
Of course they do.
When has Drake ever lost a fight? I didn’t even know he was still fighting!
He’s obviously here for a reason—the star of the show. His face is all over this fucking desert city and I was too lost in my own head to even notice it. I wonder how many billboards and posters we passed before I finally realized it was him.
“Cheer up,” Shane hisses at my side. He’s focused on the cage. I’m staring at my lap. “It’s just a fight, Jenny. Get a grip.”
Little does he know that it won’t just be fighters in that cage, but my ex-boyfriend, my first love, and the man who broke my heart.
The crowd thickens. The seats fill up tens by tens. This stadium is huge. There have to be over 25,000 people here tonight. I am shocked that there are so many attending.
How could I have missed what he’s doing now? How have I not seen him on any other posters or billboards?
I don’t watch much TV. I spent most of my free time at school singing in the studio they had, recording music that I knew no one would listen to but myself.
The songs were mostly about heartbreak.
All about first love.
All about abandonment.
I probably sound like a knock-off version of Adele and Katy Perry, but I love my music. I love the soul I can put into it, the power I give to my voice. After I’ve had a stiff drink, I go all out in the studio. The microphones don’t even stand a chance.
I sing because it inspires me to keep going.
Even when I know not many will listen, I still upload them to my website. I get a few listeners here and there. A few anonymous comments about how great I sound, and I am okay with that.
To me, a few equal many.
“You lying little skank!” Kylie plops down in the seat right beside me, stealing my attention away.
“Oh my God, Kylie! You scared me!”
“Oh, I scared you? Well that couldn’t have happened if you weren’t here… like you said you wouldn’t be! Did he make you lie?”
“I was forced to come here.” I roll my eyes.
“Oh really? So you’re telling me Shane the Twatwaffle gripped you by the roots of your hair and dragged you down to this stadium?” She talks lowly so only I can hear, but there is still a chance Shane heard because he shifts in his chair as soon as she’s done talking.
He leans forward to look at Kylie. “You again, I see.” His eyebrows inch up.
“Yes, me. It’s always me. Recognize.” She snaps her fingers in the air.
I fight a laugh.
“You didn’t tell me she would be here,” Shane hisses as he sits back again.
“I didn’t even know I would be here,” I mutter back.
He tightens his jaw. “Is that your seat, Kylie?” he asks.
She narrows her eyes at him, digging into her clutch and pulling out a ticket. She holds it up for him to look at. “Yep. Another coincidence. How strange.”
This time it really is a coincidence. What are the odds that my best friend is sitting right beside me at a fight my ex-boyfriend is the star of?
Shane sighs. “I’m going to the bar. Want anything?”
“Oh, whiskey, please? Neat.”
“Oh, come on, Jenny. I’ll get you a martini or something. Aren’t you tired of drinking whiskey all the damn time?”
“Nope. It’s the only thing that numbs me out.”
“You’re getting a martini.” He walks away before I can protest. I narrow my eyes at his back.
“I hate him,” Kylie snips, and it’s like she’s stolen the words right out of my mouth.
“He’s just being a dick because you popped up. I don’t get why you two can never get along.”
“Uh—what?!” Kylie sits forward, looking me over as if I’ve lost my ever loving mind. “I lost all of my respect for that asshole when he grabbed you that night in Yale. While you were drunk, remember? I mean, yeah, you were clumsy and being a little wild, but you were having fun and he had no right to come into that party and grab you like that.” She sits back and folds her arms. “He’s a jealous, rich snob. That’s what he is. And you know who he reminds me of?”
I narrow my eyes in her direction. “Who?”
“Trace.” She puts on a smug look.
I gasp. “No. He is nothing like Trace.”
“Really, Jen?” Her face is serious now.
I watch her for a moment before slouching back in my chair. She might be right, but I won’t admit to that. Trace was the ultimate asshole. Kylie’s ex-boyfriend, that Drake and Oscar had to beat the hell out of before he got the point.