Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 70629 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 353(@200wpm)___ 283(@250wpm)___ 235(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 70629 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 353(@200wpm)___ 283(@250wpm)___ 235(@300wpm)
Walking up the back porch, I open the door and head straight to the bottle of whiskey. Taking it out, I pour a shot and put it on the counter, turning and getting my laptop. I’m going to go down memory lane, and I might need help doing it. I sit at the counter and wait for it to boot up.
My leg moves up and down as I wait. It may take just a couple of minutes, but to me, it’s the longest fucking time in the world. Opening the browser, I type Facebook and wait for the page to load. I add in my email address and the password to access my account. I spot Harlow right away on my news feed. Looking up at the red numbers staring at me, one says nine hundred and ninety-nine with a plus sign, and the inbox shows me six hundred and ninety-five messages.
I don’t bother scrolling. Instead, I open my messages and then look at the shot of whiskey. My stomach is a fucking mess. I go down one at a time, ignoring all of them, and wonder if it would even be there six years later. Maybe messages are deleted after a certain time, but then I see her name—Hazel.
I click to open the message, but her picture doesn’t show up. Instead, it’s just an outline of a person. I see her message there, and my stomach burns just like it did all those years ago. It was the worst day of training. I had woken up and felt like I was missing something or someone, and I just couldn’t shake it. I ignored it all day long, only to have it hit me again when I was in the shower. I closed my eyes, and all I saw was my family. My mother and father sitting at the table laughing. My grandfather on his horse, and Hazel laughing with her head back and her hair blowing in the wind.
I read the message and then deactivated my account. I thought about answering, but I knew if I did, I would just string her along, and she deserved better.
My hands touch the keyboard when I type Hey and press enter. As soon as I do it, a red exclamation mark appears. "What the fuck does this mean?" I put the mouse cursor next to the red dot and see the mark of error. I enter another message, and the same thing happens. I go back to my home page and type out her name in the search bar. The five people who come up I don’t even know. "What the fuck?” I grab my phone and call Harlow.
"What’s up, big brother?” she says, answering right away.
"Hey, can you give me your Facebook login?" I ask, signing out of my account.
"Um, no,” she says right away. “Why would you want my login? Use your own." I close my eyes and pinch the bridge of my nose. Of course it wouldn’t be this easy.
"Fine, bye,” I say, hanging up the phone and calling my mother.
"She’s not going to give you her login," Harlow says, picking up my mother’s cell phone.
"Why do you still live at home?" I ask. “Isn’t it the time you left home?"
"I just ate dinner. And now I’m lying on the couch. Know who cooked me dinner?” she says. “Mom. Now I’m going to go and soak in the tub that the cleaning lady cleaned today."
"You are a spoiled brat,” I say. “Now, can I speak to my mother, please?” I say, shaking my head.
"Well, you can’t. She and Dad went out on a date,” she says. “And she forgot her phone."
"Fine, thanks." I hang up and think about calling my father, but I don’t want to interrupt them on their date.
Instead, I shut down the computer. Tomorrow I’ll go back and ask her what she wanted to tell me all those years ago. Tomorrow.
I lie in bed most of the night, sleep not coming to me. The last time I see the clock, it’s a little past three o’clock in the morning. The knocking wakes me up, and it takes me a second to come to realize what the noise is when the knocking comes again. I get out of bed and run to the door when the knocking continues. “Hold your horses!" I shout. Unlocking the door, I see Ethan standing there with his hands on his hips and his glasses on.
"Good afternoon," he says, pushing me and coming into the house.
"What time is it?" I ask, confused.
"Nine thirty,” he says, and I stare at him in shock. “Jesus, why didn’t my alarm wake me?" I walk back into the house, going to the kitchen to see my phone on the counter. "I must have been in a deep sleep not to hear my alarm."