Total pages in book: 140
Estimated words: 129207 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 646(@200wpm)___ 517(@250wpm)___ 431(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 129207 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 646(@200wpm)___ 517(@250wpm)___ 431(@300wpm)
He’s gone. Really gone.
The security guards take me right outside, kicking me to the curb, and as I sit in the gutter, all I can do is cry as I watch the private jet take off and disappear into the sky with the other half of my soul.
How can he be gone just like that? I didn’t get to hold him, didn’t get to tell him how much I’ll miss him, how much I love him.
I’ve spent the last two weeks hating him, refusing to see him as I buried myself in the agony, but last night, he barged through my bedroom door, climbed into my bed, and as I spent the night falling to pieces and demanding he look after my brother, he held me, not daring to let go. But by morning, I was gone, and now, I feel like an idiot.
I should have stayed. I should have begged him not to go.
God, it hurts. Just like the night I lost my mother, only that night I had somebody to hold me through the pain, somebody to tell me everything was going to be okay. Not now. Not anymore. There’s nobody here to hold me. Nobody to take away the pain. I’ve never been so alone in my life.
The agony tears through me, and as the sun begins to set on the horizon, I shakily get to my feet and start walking.
I’d taken a bus to get here and sat with a bouncing knee the whole way, willing the driver to hurry up and hoping like fuck I didn’t miss him, but now . . . I almost wish I had. No goodbye was worth seeing the pain in his eyes, the desperation, and agony that I know was reflected in mine . . . It fucking gutted me.
This is his dream, he should have been riding off into the sunset with pride, not despair.
I walk for hours, and by the time I reach my home, all I can do is stare up at it with emptiness.
I’ve feared this place for months, never wanting to come home unless the guys were here, and now without them, I’ve never been more terrified.
The way my father looks at me makes my skin crawl. The way he talks to me makes me sick, and the way he touches me when I don’t realize he’s standing right behind me . . .
I never should have let them leave, not without being honest first.
Oh God, what am I going to do?
Slipping through the hole in the back fence, I saunter up to the back porch and steal the small throw blanket off the old swing chair before moving around the side of the house and curling up on the ground, surrounded by the remnants of Mom’s dead garden.
Dad will no doubt be drunk and passed out on the couch, but at some point, he’ll wake up and take himself to bed, and when that happens, I can’t be in the house.
At maybe two or three in the morning, I’ll be free to make my way inside and go to bed. I’ll have to brace the door with my dresser, but then I need to be up and out of there before six, otherwise, he’ll look for me in the morning.
My stomach clenches, and I pull my knees right up against my chest before resting my chin against them and pulling the blanket around me.
The emptiness gnaws at me, and after what feels like a lifetime, my phone dies and as my eyes grow heavier, I crave my bed like never before. Maybe tomorrow night I can stash some snacks and a pillow out here, maybe a few energy drinks to keep me going.
When the emotional exhaustion wears down on me, I force myself to get to my feet. My knees shake, and I suck in a breath as I creep around the outside of the house, peering through all the windows.
There’s no sign of my father on the couch, and I let out a relieved breath, realizing he’s already taken himself to bed. I should be good to sneak in. I just need to get through the back door, up the stairs, and into my bedroom. Once I’m there, I’ll be free.
Fear rattles me as I make my way back around to the front door and silently slip my key into the lock. The door opens with a soft creak, and as I slip inside the old house, I hold my breath and slowly glance through the darkness.
Everything is as it should be.
I start toward the stairs, going as slowly as possible to not make a sound, and as I pass the dining room, a voice sounds through the darkness.
“Well, if it isn’t my delinquent whore of a daughter,” my father grumbles, slurring his words. “Where the fuck have you been?”