Total pages in book: 144
Estimated words: 140896 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 704(@200wpm)___ 564(@250wpm)___ 470(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 140896 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 704(@200wpm)___ 564(@250wpm)___ 470(@300wpm)
I smile and type, “I like this guy.”
“See?” Remi says with glee. “I’m the model of every girl’s dream man.”
It’s arrogance, but, again, it’s not the same as Landon’s.
Why the hell am I searching for a type of egoism that fits his?
It hits me then.
I’m trying to find arrogance that’s not equally intimidating and terrifying. Obviously, it’s an epic failure.
“Get over yourself,” Bran says with a shake of his head.
“That would be such a waste to the universe. Anyway, what are you guys doing here? Can I join?”
“Do you game?” I show him my phone.
“More in real life since I’m a basketball god, just saying, but I do play with Bran sometimes when he’s being a loner.”
“Join us, then,” I type, then smile when he reads it.
“That’s not a good idea,” Bran tells me. “He’s loud and a hopeless amateur who blames the game for his failures.”
“Hey. Show some respect, peasant.”
“Aren’t you supposed to find your shoes?” Bran asks. “Lan probably hid them to mess with you.”
Remi’s disgusted face must match mine. I knew I liked this guy. “That little fucker is always out for trouble. He needs to chill for a second.”
“More like for a lifetime,” Bran mutters under his breath.
Seems I’m not the only one who’s done with Landon’s shit. His own brother and friend don’t seem pleased with him either.
I offer Remi some of my calamari. He accepts it and scoots a chair over.
“Has he always been like that?” I type and show it to them.
“For as long as I can remember,” Remi says, stealing Bran’s drink. “This one was always the pacifist, and Lan, the anarchist.”
That’s such a stark difference. Maya and I have our own personalities, but we’re both troublemakers in our own ways.
“He doesn’t fit into a mold, and he’s extremely proud of his twisted, individualistic view of life.” Bran stares in the distance as if he’s reliving a faraway memory. “He has antisocial tendencies that he tames enough to make him appear charming instead of threatening.”
“Tell me about it.” Remi sounds personally offended. “That little fuck keeps getting all the pretty ladies even though he has the attention span of a fly.”
“He’s a genius at what he does, so the girls make sense,” Bran says. “What doesn’t make sense is them knowing he refuses any form of commitment but still flocking toward him anyway.”
I type, “A genius at what he does?”
“He’s a sculptor and he’s always been gifted,” Bran says with a smidge of envy. “He’s had many of his works exhibited since we were in secondary school.”
Oh, right. I heard about that before. I did contemplate ruining his art studio, but it’s thumbprint protected, so I couldn’t get access.
“I still prefer your paintings. They’re so relaxing and pretty,” I type and show Bran.
A rare smile curves his lips and he pats the top of my head.
“But Lan hasn’t sculpted in a while,” Remi says after swallowing a bite of food. “The other day, he said it’s just dull.”
“Dull?” Bran echoes. “Sculpting is the only thing that reins him in.”
“Maybe that’s why he’s been acting like a maniac lately.”
That can’t be a good sign, right?
We play together for another hour before I have to leave. Partly because I don’t want my brother to question why I was out late and partly because I don’t want to cross paths with Lan on my way out.
Still, I keep thinking about the conversation I had with Bran and Remi. How can I use the information I learned to get rid of that bastard Lan?
The answer is that I can’t. At least, not yet.
But I can store the information for later, until I eventually come up with something.
The chill of the night prickles my skin as I walk to the car.
It’s darker than I anticipated. I don’t like being outside alone in the dark. It’s where the monster lurk, waiting to ambush me.
The low yellow lights stacked between the trees do little to dissipate the claim of the night.
My skin crawls and I have to breathe deeply so as not to trigger the weak part of me.
I take large steps, but it doesn’t help to dissipate my imagination.
A rustle swishes from the trees before large heads with big, ugly snake eyes rear through the branches.
My breath catches and I give up trying to stay cool, then run to where I parked my car.
You’re not taking me today, assholes.
Not today.
The monsters flicker and grow in size until I can feel them spreading behind me like wildfire. They’re running and I’m running, but I don’t think I can outrun them.
My muscles scream with exertion and my breathing comes out chopped and unnatural.
I’m almost to the car.
Almost—
I jolt to a halt when a dark figure appears from behind a tree, wearing a mask.
A scream bubbles at the back of my throat, but I can’t release it.