Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 76172 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 381(@200wpm)___ 305(@250wpm)___ 254(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76172 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 381(@200wpm)___ 305(@250wpm)___ 254(@300wpm)
“They’ll worry about you.”
I shake my head again. I don’t believe that at all. If they cared enough to worry, then they would’ve helped me find an alternative that worked for both of us. When I approached them weeks and weeks ago about a double major, business and fashion, they shot me down and told me they wouldn’t pay for school if it had anything to do with fashion. They weren’t going to waste their money even though I seemed hell-bent on wasting my time.
“When do you head back to campus?”
“Tomorrow evening,” she answers as she glides to a stop near the rundown gas station. “Can’t you just make it two more months? I liked your plan of attending my school and lying about your major.”
I threw that plan at her a couple weeks ago. I could lie and say I was going for pre-law like my dad wanted me to, but taking classes that would help in the fashion industry.
“They’d be checking up on me because I mentioned my double major.”
I want to cry right now. I don’t want to run away, but wishing for parents who actually gave a shit about me was even less likely.
“Why not just stay gone for a week or so, and then come back home? They’ll be so glad you’re back, they’ll let you do whatever you want.”
“I wish that were true, but I think they wanted me to choose this. Now they no longer have to pretend they give a shit.”
My statement is only half-true. I can’t recall the last time they gave a shit at all. Why does it even matter how I want to spend my life? It’s not like they were ever really involved at all.
“I still think this is the wrong choice,” she says, indicating the bus stop sign. “Look at that guy? He’s creepy as hell.”
I look across the parking lot toward the guy she’s talking about. He does look a little creepy, but it’s not enough to change my mind.
“I have to do this.”
“What am I supposed to tell your parents when they call asking where you are?”
“They won’t call,” I assure her. “I left a note.”
She shakes her head but doesn’t ask what the note said. The friend who left for college a few months ago would have, but we’ve both changed in such a short period of time.
She has new friends, different obligations than I do. I can’t be mad at her for that.
I unbuckle my seatbelt and reach across the console.
She wraps her arms around me. It feels like a more serious goodbye than I had originally intended.
“Call me if you need me,” she whispers. Emotions clog my throat, leaving me incapable of words. I nod my head in agreement, but deep down I know that it probably won’t happen. Other than a conversation, she’s really not in any position to help me.
I have to help myself, even if that means taking a chance on life.
She releases me, opening her car door at the same time I do mine. My suitcase is already pulled out of her back seat before she can make her way around the back of the car.
“I love you,” she says when I start to wheel my way toward the bus that’s pulling up.
“Love you, too,” I tell her, my pulse racing as I walk away.
I try to convince myself that it’s excitement rather than fear making my heartbeat bang around in my ears.
The creepy guy is waiting to go inside, but turns his attention to me after the bus driver takes the handle of my suitcase to stow it under the bus.
“After you, gorgeous,” the creep says, bending in the middle as if he’s a chivalrous man.
The stench of alcohol hits me in the face, but I do my best not to cringe away from him. Offending him would probably piss him off and make him act in a way I won’t like.
“Thank you,” I say, avoiding eye contact with him.
He’s close enough as I climb up the stairs that I feel the warmth of his body against my back.
I fight the urge to get off and run back to Quincy’s car, but a quick glance over my shoulder tells me she didn’t stick around long enough to watch me leave. The logical part of me knows there’s no sense in her feeling afraid by sticking around, but it still hurts.
I stiffen my spine as I walk down the aisle.
“Looks like that back seat is free,” the guy behind me says, a threat in his voice.
I drop down beside a middle-aged woman who’s sitting halfway down the aisle, smiling at her as she looks my way.
The guy behind me grumbles a few cuss words as he passes.
“I think you made the right choice, hon,” she says, patting me on my leg before resting her head against an inflated pillow pressed against the window.