Total pages in book: 177
Estimated words: 173392 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 867(@200wpm)___ 694(@250wpm)___ 578(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 173392 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 867(@200wpm)___ 694(@250wpm)___ 578(@300wpm)
But when I look, the cabinet is empty. All the bottles are gone.
I pop up, looking over the counter at them. “Where’s the liquor?”
“I dumped it,” Krisjen replies.
I whip my arm, slamming the cabinets closed and zoning in on Army. “Her or me?” I grit out through my teeth as I walk back into the living room. “I’m not living in this bullshit anymore.” I turn to her. “Who the hell do you think you are?”
Running around here, sticking her nose in our business like some self-proclaimed matriarch.
“Just stay home,” Army tells me. “Cool off.”
But Krisjen chimes in. “He’s going with us.”
“Fuck you, slut!” I shout. Where does she get off?
Army grabs the front of my shirt and shoves me, but I twist and slam his arms away, pushing him in the chest.
Hooking the back of my neck, he whips me around, but I grip the back of his just in time, taking him with me as we smash into the entryway table. Stuff crashes to the floor, Dex erupts in wails, and I hear Krisjen.
“Stop. Please stop!”
I plant my hand on my older brother’s face and shove him away, watching him fall into the front door.
I suck blood off my tongue and spit on the floor, all three of them staring at me.
A lump moves down Krisjen’s throat. The corner of my mouth tilts up in a grin.
She dashes past me. “I have to get something from upstairs. Dallas, help.”
And I do as I’m told, following her.
“Dallas!” Army yells.
But I hear Trace mumble something to him. I don’t hear what he says.
They don’t get it. Just like our parents. No one gets it.
The pain I cause because pain distracts me, but love does so much more damage, and they don’t see that. I would respect Krisjen only if she were aware of it. If she knew what she was going to do to us when she leaves, I would smile. I would be satisfied if she knew that it would end but that she just couldn’t stop herself.
But she doesn’t, so that makes her simple.
Krisjen veers to the left, into my sister’s room, and I follow her in, slamming the door shut behind me.
“This is my family,” I grit out. “And we have been through more shit than you would ever be able to handle. They listen to every split tail who comes through here, because having a woman around reminds them of our mother, even though not a single one of us understood that fucking woman.”
Krisjen picks up her black hoodie, pulling it on.
“In a few months, you’ll realize you were made for better,” I go on, “and we were good for a ride. You’ll leave, and we’ll still be here, trying to hold our shit together. Please just fuck off. You know this isn’t home.”
She walks to the window and stares out as she sweeps her hair up into a ponytail. A brown lock falls down her temple, nearly touching her eyebrow as she lowers her chin to study something outside. Her bottom lip twitches just barely.
In a way only I would notice.
I love staring at her, but I hate her all the same. I want to be her some days, and make her cry most others. I want her to hit me.
And sometimes I want her to feel me in the dark.
I’m not beautiful in anything I do, but I will change her.
I open my mouth, but she speaks first. “Do you remember your mom well?” she asks, still looking out the window.
I close my mouth.
A car hood drops closed outside, and I hear the heavy creak of a door that only a car from the seventies can make.
“Do you remember what she was like when she was sad?” she presses. “How she behaved?”
I narrow my eyes. How is any of that her business?
“Was she self-isolating?” she goes on.
I walk slowly toward her.
“Loss of appetite?” she asks.
I approach, standing next to her as she watches Macon outside. The old Dodge he’s working on is parked half in the street, the driver’s door open as he tries to turn over the ignition.
“Insomnia?” Krisjen asks. “Mood swings?”
I freeze, staring at my brother. Krisjen cocks her head, gazing at him. My hands ice over.
“Macon shouldn’t drink anymore,” she tells me. “You want to drink, you go to the bar.”
Macon steps out of the car, but then he stops and just stands there. Staring at the ground. His chest rising and falling like every breath weighs too much.
I clench my teeth.
We watch as he twists his head, cracking his neck, and gets back to work.
He’s fine. Why is she saying all of this?
Krisjen turns, looking me in the eyes. “He needs help around here, he needs healthier food, and he must get some sleep,” she states. “And he needs to wake up with more to think about than just problems. Everyone needs things to look forward to. Even just a day of fun.”