Total pages in book: 133
Estimated words: 130221 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 651(@200wpm)___ 521(@250wpm)___ 434(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 130221 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 651(@200wpm)___ 521(@250wpm)___ 434(@300wpm)
So, she pays the bills she can, lets her kids raise each other, and carves out a moderate amusement for herself here and there until she dies.
Did she want more? Ever?
They wear you down. All the shit, all the time, and all the disappointment until you just stop fighting. You let it happen to you. You let everything happen to you, and you just act grateful it’s not going to kill you today, so you can enjoy a few more beers. You don’t fight it, because if it’s not one thing, it’s another, so what’s the point?
What’s the point? What are we here for?
I take a step, climbing a fire escape, when I realize I’m back at the hideout. I’m in Shelburne Falls. It’s dark, and I’m soaked from rain that still pours.
I look around me, seeing I’ve ascended three stories of the building, making my way for the roof, and I’m suddenly so tired. I stop, my legs shaking.
My muscles harden like they’re filled with knots, and I grip the railing before stumbling backward. I slide down the edge of the landing and drop to my ass on the steel grate of the third floor. I’m done. I got nothing left.
My muddy hair hangs down my chest, and despite the August air, I shiver in my soaked clothes.
Grow or die. I don’t want to die. If I went back to Hugo, it would kill me. I can’t do what he wants me to do.
I hear him before I see him, his steps coming down the stairwell. He stops at my side, and I see he’s wearing running shoes. He was probably exercising when he saw me on the cameras.
I’m about to tell him I’ll take a hike. I’m just resting.
But he takes a seat next to me, and for some reason, I feel tears burn my eyes.
“Are you injured?” Hawke asks in a soft voice.
I shake my head.
Rain spills between the grating, and I don’t know why he stays there, getting just as soaked as me.
I don’t try to talk, though. Whatever comes out of my mouth seems to make everything worse. Yesterday I didn’t really care. Today I do.
“My parents took me all these places growing up,” he says. “They had a hard time of it when they were kids. They didn’t get to see the world. Learn what they were capable of.” He bends one knee up and drapes his arm over it. The vein in his hand bulges, disappearing underneath his watch. “And when they got pregnant with me long before they were really ready, they decided to not let it stop them. They were getting out there. Together. They strapped me on their backs and went.”
I try to picture him as a child, but I can’t.
“Camping, hiking, hunting,” he goes on, “broke down bus rides through the Andes, and we even had to hitchhike once. My mom was really scared.” He laughs a little and then continues. “They taught me to ration food and forage for supplies. How to do a lot with very little.” He pauses, and when he speaks again, he’s quieter. “But it never really occurred to me until today…” I see him look over at me out of the corner of my eye. “I did all of that with the knowledge that I was never in any real danger.”
My chin trembles, and I clench my teeth to stop it.
“I was never going to starve,” he says, “because I was never going to be alone in the world. I have a huge family. All of whom are ready at a moment’s notice to be there for me.”
Unlike me, he means. But despite the warmth I feel that at least he’s aware of how lucky he is—how he might not be the guy he is if he’d been born into my world—I fight to stay hard.
“I don’t need your pity,” I tell him.
But he’s quick to respond. “I don’t feel sorry for you, Aro.” He falls quiet, and I almost can’t hear him when he says, “I think you’re amazing.”
My heart skips a beat, and I freeze.
Amazing? Did he smoke something? Not enough oxygen getting into the hideout, maybe?
“You can do a lot for an eighteen-year-old,” he muses, and I hear the smile in his voice. He’s still looking at me. “What can you do at nineteen, I wonder? At twenty-five and at thirty?”
A lump lodges in my throat, and I turn my eyes out to the alley, blinking away the water on my face.
“Let’s do this.” His voice is gentle. “I don’t want that piece of shit to win, okay?”
I want to. I want to do this with him. To finally win.
Never give up the fight.
Hawke stands up and holds out his hand for me. I don’t hesitate. Taking it, I let him pull me up, my body no longer weak, just tired.