Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 65552 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 328(@200wpm)___ 262(@250wpm)___ 219(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 65552 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 328(@200wpm)___ 262(@250wpm)___ 219(@300wpm)
What the fuck was that?
She acted like I was going to kill her. I’ve threatened her before, grabbed her, and touched her without asking. She’s never reacted like that before. No. This was different.
Whatever it is, it’s big. She is hiding a big fucking secret, and I’m going to find out what it is.
I don’t know why I stand there moping over it. I don’t care what the fuck is wrong with her, just so long as she doesn’t die because her misery is my enjoyment, and if she’s dead, well, there goes my fun.
Waiting a little longer before I reappear in the banquet hall, I give myself a moment to get my shit together. I go into the bathroom and check my face in the mirror. There is a scratch mark across my cheek, but I can’t do shit to hide it. Not going to lie, the fact that Kennedy attacked me is surprising as fuck.
Cleaning myself up as best as I can, I leave the restroom and walk back into the party. I make it all of two feet inside the door before my mother is on me, her face a mask of fury.
“What did you do to her?” my mother asks sternly.
I choke on my laughter. “What did I do to her? Do you see my cheek? She fucking attacked me. Plus, I’m not the one out here pretending like everything is fine and dandy.” I take a step back, my voice rising, drawing attention from bystanders.
I don’t care who sees or hears what I have to say. I’m past giving a shit now.
“I know you’re hurting, son, but you need to calm down. It was an accident. Kennedy didn’t mean to do it.”
I hate how calm she sounds, how dismissive to what happened to Jillian she is. Her voice is like ants crawling all over my skin, and I want to sink my nails into my flesh and itch.
“An accident is running into someone with your shopping cart. Spilling a glass of milk. What she did wasn’t an accident. It was murder and the fact that you can’t see that…” I clench my fist, ready to punch something, someone, anything. I’m boiling water, that’s bubbling over. “The fact that you can’t see that makes you a fucking disgrace. You don’t forgive the person who killed someone you love. It’s disgraceful and shitty, and you’re…” I back away needing to go somewhere else to escape this turtleneck of an event.
“Jackson, wait,” my mother calls after me with tears in her eyes, but her tears mean nothing to me, not when she can sit with the enemy and pretend that everything is all right. Not when she’d rather talk to the person that killed her daughter than her own son, who is drowning right in front of her.
I don’t wait.
I run, and I don’t stop until my lungs burn, and my muscles ache. Until all I can do is pass out from exhaustion.
14
Kennedy
The feelings are back, and I’m like a rock sinking to the bottom of them. He felt them, my scars, his fingers ran along the jagged, raised edges. He knows my secret, and he could tell anyone, my parents, his parents.
“What’s going on, honey?” My mother intercepts me as I come rushing around the corner. All I could think was to get away from him, to make sure he didn’t learn my secret, but that failed. He knows something is going on even if he doesn’t really know what it is.
Forcing myself to calm down and pump the breaks, I wipe away the tears from my cheeks and pretend as if all is okay. “I’m just really emotional right now and having a rough time after seeing Ken and Trish, that’s all. I think I want to go home.”
“We just got here though,” she says, frowning.
“You guys can stay if you want, but I feel sick. I’m going to go back to my apartment. Maybe we can have breakfast in the morning?” I try to lighten the blow of me leaving, and it must work because she smiles at me and gives me a hug.
“I would love that. I’ll call you in the morning, and we can see what’s going on.” She releases me, and I nod. I don’t bother saying goodbye to my father, it’s not like he cares anyway.
“Tell Ken and Trish I’m sorry that I had to leave, please.”
“I will let them know. Go home and get some rest. I love you,” she says and then turns around and walks back to the table. Standing there for a long moment, I realize that I could be screaming for help in the open, and she would never see it. Not because the evidence isn’t there but because she doesn’t want to see it. Unless I tell her flat out, she’ll never acknowledge it.