Total pages in book: 122
Estimated words: 115590 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 578(@200wpm)___ 462(@250wpm)___ 385(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115590 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 578(@200wpm)___ 462(@250wpm)___ 385(@300wpm)
I’d pushed myself out the door of The White Rabbit faster than I’d gone in, and thoughts swirled through my head like an angry vortex on the drive to my house. Hendrix had passed out on the couch, the TV on, and I was glad. I couldn't deal with his bullshit right now.
The moment I got into my room, I threw a fist through the wall behind my door. My knuckles split, but even that didn’t make me feel better. I paced for a moment before the adrenaline slowly subsided, then I sat at my desk and flipped to a clean page in my sketchbook.
The lead made a soft scratch as I traced an outline of Monroe’s figure. Then drew the straight lines of the pole. With each stroke of the pencil, I allowed myself to go down a rabbit hole I wished I hadn’t. I worked on the drawing until sunlight streamed through the window and cast shadows over the red hue of her hair, the dark navy hue of the stage and the men leering at her from below.
I had never given a shit about a girl before, and somehow, this girl had managed to break me apart without even trying. Because I was pretty damn sure I was in love with her.
26
Monroe
Crystal dropped me off in the early hours of the morning. The security light from the neighbor’s trailer flashed on, reflecting over the shit-brown paint of Jerry’s car. Great. Just what I needed. I expected him to be passed out on the couch. What I didn’t expect was the cardboard boxes stacked around the tiny living room. A horrible feeling crawled up my throat. I had seen this time and time again—my mom was moving him in. And that was always where the problems started, when they thought they were my new step-daddy.
I refused to let Jerry ruin the little glow of happiness Zepp had planted in me, though, so I ignored it and went to my room. I pulled the wad of money from my bra and knelt next to the chest of drawers, stuffing the cash through a little hole on the backboard. Then I undressed and got into the shower, washing away the heavy makeup and the scent of cologne that clung to me.
When I got into bed, I wished I was at Zepp’s house, in his bed. For the first time, I understood my mom’s string of shitty men. Maybe this sense of belonging was what she had been chasing—someone to give a shit about her. But she always picked the wrong guys, time and time again.
The next morning, I went to grab a Pop-Tart from the cabinet and was greeted by Jerry in his ratty, old man boxers. I wanted to tell him to get the hell out, but I knew better than to make enemies with someone I now lived with. My life was already hard enough. So I grabbed the pastry and my bookbag, and I left.
I zoned out during first period, doodling in my notebook while I tried to ignore the anxiety Jerry created permanently being at the trailer.
“Assignments will be set today,” Mrs. Johnson said, slamming a book down on her desk with a thud. “Take your seats. I will be calling your name, along with your partner’s. You will have three weeks to complete a ten-thousand-word essay on the effect of social media on social and political reasoning.”
She picked up a piece of paper from her desk. “Laura Smith and Bobby Jones…” I scribbled more shapes along the edge of my paper until I heard my name. “Monroe James and Chase Matthews.” Oh, great. Just great.
My gaze swung across the room to Chase. He glanced over his shoulder at me, a miserable expression on his face. We hadn’t spoken since he had attempted to apologize and Zepp had punched him.
“Pair up and start discussing your project.”
I didn’t move. After a few minutes, Chase shoved to his feet, dropping into the seat beside me.
“Maybe she’ll swap us if you ask…” he started.
“What? Don’t want to work with me?”
His palm slapped down on his desk. “I tried to apologize to you, Monroe. And you sicced your boyfriend on me.”
“Oh my God.” I glared at him. “I did not sic Zepp on you. He asked me why you were apologizing because he thought I’d screwed you.” I tapped my pencil over my notebook. “Trust me, the truth was a far better option.”
“You realize he’s a psycho, right?”
“I’m aware.”
“And yet, you’re dating him. Never took you for that kind of girl.” The judgmental look he gave me set me on edge.
I tossed my pencil at him, and it bounced off his chest. “My dating life is none of your business. I still haven’t forgiven you for being a prick.”
“I’m sorry, okay?” He threw up his hands. “I shouldn’t have said what I did about Harford.”