Total pages in book: 114
Estimated words: 106464 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 532(@200wpm)___ 426(@250wpm)___ 355(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106464 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 532(@200wpm)___ 426(@250wpm)___ 355(@300wpm)
I freeze, my hands stilling over my water bottle. It feels as if all of my blood leaves my body as my mouth hangs open. She didn’t just say what you thought she did, Jade. Your brain is in purgatory again. My heart races so fast I can’t suck in any oxygen. I’m going to stop breathing.
“What?” My tone is loud, the syllables sharp enough to cut anyone who says that name again. I shake off my instant thoughts and bring my eyes back to hers. “He’s coming home?!” I swallow long gulps of water to stop my panic from illustrating over my face. No. No. No.
“It’s his birthday, Jade. I thought you would remember. He’s your brother. Yes, he’s coming home. I’m just” —tears fall down her cheeks— “so happy, Jade. I thought he had left us for good.”
So did I. My brother who left me. He fucking left me. Abandoned me just like everyone else. He was no better.
I squash the memories that begin to rise to the surface of my brain. The melancholy that his name left on my heart is too much for my brittle soul to handle right now. I’ve put on a front over the years, a very fucking good one, and I do a lot of things to distract myself from acknowledging my feelings, but nothing, and I mean nothing, comes close to the touch of Royce fucking Kane. Even when he’s not here physically, he’s still inside of me. Living. Existing. Betraying.
“I haven’t seen him in so long,” is all I manage to say, unable to process what’s happening right now. He fucking left me.
Mom nods her head eagerly, busying herself back to stirring. Vanilla, no doubt. Royce’s favorite. “I know. It’s been four years, so we want to welcome him home with open arms. God, Jade.” She turns to face me, tears filling her eyes. “I’m so happy that he’s coming home.”
I want to be happy too, if he wasn’t such a piece of shit for leaving. I was a baby when I was fostered into the Kane family. They took me in as their own, and even Royce pulled me in and treated me like I was his real-life sibling. He was my everything, and being three years older than me, I looked up to him. He took care of me every single day that I was in this house. All of my life I watched as every boy worshipped him, and every girl wanted him. I didn’t do either of those things, but my soul needed him. Until he left me. Alone. In this house. I hate him.
I drag my sad mood back upstairs, wishing I could fast-forward this day. Or rewind back to when I was born and just not be born.
As soon as I reach my bedroom door, I swing it open and fall onto my bed. The feathers inside my blanket curving around my petite body as my long brown hair sprawls out around my head. This room holds so many memories of him and I. This whole house does. His bedroom itself remains untouched, and sometimes, when it gets bad, I sleep in his bed. His room is like the charger for my soul when someone else would empty it.
I’m going to see Royce tonight.
I don’t want to see Royce tonight.
I wanted him for so long, cried for him every night until tears stung the corners of my eyes and my lips cracked from dehydration. Now that I know he’s coming home, I don’t want him. I’m angry at him. It’s like those four years did nothing to ease my anger. Time only bathed it, kept it under control.
I sigh, pulling out my phone and flicking through my playlist. I hit an old-school Guns N’ Roses song and slip into my bathroom, needing to scrub the day off my skin.
Black. It’s my favorite color. Not because it’s slimming—I don’t need to look slim. But because it’s the color you can wear when you don’t need to put in any effort at all. Like right now. I don’t want to put in any effort even though Mom will no doubt be wearing Prada. The prodigal son returns. I squeeze on a pair of tight black skinny jeans and a loose black shirt. Its thin straps clinging to my frail collarbones. I always wear makeup. I love everything about makeup and how you can artfully apply it to pull off a different look. But tonight, I settle for CC cream and light mascara, piling my long hair into a high ponytail. I just want this over with.
My phone starts vibrating on my bedside table, I pick it up, answering. “What’s up?”
“Okay, I need to ask you a question…” Sloane purrs down the line. She’s probably already drunk.
I hesitate. “Sure?”