Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 95453 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 477(@200wpm)___ 382(@250wpm)___ 318(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95453 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 477(@200wpm)___ 382(@250wpm)___ 318(@300wpm)
I don’t even know what I’m looking for. A sign, any sign. I have to do something. I can’t sit around and accept what everyone else has accepted. I would know if my brother was dead. I never saw the body. There was no ability to test his dental records since he was basically blown apart.
Whoever it was, it wasn’t Nix. I don’t know who else would have been in the house that day, but it wasn’t him. Nix wouldn’t let himself get blown up like that. He would’ve smelled the gas—it was a gas leak that set off the blast. He would’ve been smart enough to get the hell out of there.
Because otherwise, he did it on purpose, and I can’t accept that. The idea of him doing something like that, without at least hinting to me he was thinking about it… it doesn’t make sense. That’s not him. That’s not us. And that’s what Leni couldn’t possibly understand.
Finally, when my research comes up with nothing as it usually does, I move on to the next step. There’s no way to know whether he reads these emails I send every few days, but I have to keep trying.
First, though, I have to look around, make sure nobody’s paying attention. This whole thing has turned me into a paranoid freak, always looking over my shoulder, because I know anyone would think I’m crazy or pathetic and deluded if they knew I can’t accept Nix’s death. Like I’m some emotional basket case who can’t accept the truth.
Brother,
When are you coming back? Life is pretty fucking boring without you. I feel like I ask that question all the time, but the days keep going past, and you still haven’t said anything to at least let me know you’re okay.
Maybe this will get you to show yourself: Mom is awake. We saw her a few days ago. I’ve been waiting to get back on campus to send you this email and let you know. She’s doing well, at least according to her team. I don’t think they ever expected her to wake up. Now that she has, I’m not sure I was ever all that confident either. I mean, I hoped. I thought I could make her wake up somehow if I concentrated hard enough, or something like that.
I know she wants to see you. She can’t talk yet—it might be a long time before she ever can—but I know. Right away, she wanted to know where you were. Maybe you were always right when we were kids, and you said you were her favorite. It would suck if her favorite never came to see her.
I’m acting like the kid I was back in those days, trying to goad him, but I’m pretty fucking desperate at this point. Whatever it takes, I need him to respond. I would feel it inside if he were gone. I’m sure I would.
She’s at the hospital I told you about before, where I had her moved closer to me instead of hiding her out in Florida the way that asshole did. I told her he’s gone, and she cried a little, which tells me she still remembers things. I told her you went away because that’s the truth. I know it’s the truth. You’re not dead. I don’t know why you feel like you have to stay away. Is it guilt? Are you afraid somebody will blame you for the explosion? You don’t have to worry about that.
You don’t have to worry about Leni, either. You know how things are between us now. She knows why we did what we did. She doesn’t hold it against us.
Even as I type the words, I feel a strange, uncomfortable sensation growing in the pit of my stomach. It’s another thing I’m not used to—second-guessing myself. Is that what love is? Trying to do the right thing, and then always wondering if it was right after all? Going over every conversation when things seem off, wondering if you did or said something wrong. If you brought the person you love closer or pushed them away.
I think something is up with Leni, but she is pretending nothing is wrong. You know what a terrible liar she is. She tries to act tough and strong. She thinks she has the world fooled, but we can all see through her. I don’t know why she can’t be honest with me. I don’t know what I have to do to make her trust me. The more she doesn’t trust me, the angrier I get. The more hurt she gets. I see that hurt in her eyes—fuck, she might as well punch me in the face when she looks at me. It might be easier if she did.
“Hey, Colt.”
My head snaps up at the sound of a voice murmuring my name. A lot of people think they can just walk past and start a conversation when somebody’s busy. They’re lucky I just jerk my chin in recognition. I’d rather ask them why they can’t mind their own damn business. I feel like a guilty kid caught cheating on a test or something, looking around again to make sure nobody’s watching over my shoulder as I basically treat my brother like my personal diary. The whole thing is pretty pathetic.