Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 67801 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 339(@200wpm)___ 271(@250wpm)___ 226(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67801 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 339(@200wpm)___ 271(@250wpm)___ 226(@300wpm)
No, this wasn’t about Thomas. This was about me…learning to let go.
“Stefan,” I interrupted. “Listen…I’ll do the story.”
“Really? Are you sure?”
“I am. I think…I think it might be good for me to share a piece of it. And um…look, I’m not sure if you need to hear this but, I don’t blame you for anything. I never did.”
He licked his lips before continuing in a husky tone. “Thank you. I wasn’t sure. You disappeared and—”
“I was here and you knew it. Let’s be honest. You didn’t want to talk about it either.”
Stefan shook his head. “No. Maybe it was getting this part in the series and…knowing you’re in LA. And I guess, I need closure.”
“I think I do too. I don’t want to dwell on bad thing anymore. I want to move on.”
“Yeah, I get it.” His voice cracked.
“I want that for you too.”
His lips curled on one side. “Thank you.”
Silence.
The cleansing kind.
And God, it felt good.
I hitched my bag over my shoulder and pulled my sunglasses off. No shield required. “So…when does your show come on?”
Stefan brightened. “This summer! We got bumped to late August, but that’s cool by me…”
He went on about release delays and distribution issues and though it wasn’t an exciting topic, it didn’t feel weird to talk to him. To listen to him. It didn’t remind me of the past and it didn’t make me want to run.
I smiled…the kind of smile that was so real I could feel it in my bones, my eyes, and my ears. The kind of smile that reminded me of happy times and made me wonder if I could have nice things again.
Thomas was right. Letting go was a glorious thing.
14
TOMMY
According to the Oxford dictionary, melancholy was a state of pensive sadness with no real cause. I had cause, so maybe I was just…sad. It was a terrible feeling.
I buried myself in work, tuned out roommate strife, nodded noncommittally at my difficult boss, and dodged my parents’ phone calls as per usual. I’d never been good with confrontation—probably because I knew there was a science behind the waves that friction created.
I had a tendency to be agreeable to a fault. I craved silence to the extent that I sometimes confused it with peace. They weren’t the same thing, though. And willing the static to fade wasn’t working for me now. No matter how hard I tried.
And I did try.
I bit my tongue when Holden and Ezra argued about leaving doors ajar. I broke my spare glasses when Dr. Abrams commandeered a lecture and failed to credit my work. And I almost chucked my phone at my bedroom wall when my parents joint-texted, requesting my presence at dinner the following Sunday. I maturely ignored the message instead.
However, passive-aggressive warfare was extremely dissatisfying. I worked around the clock, but I couldn’t outrun the dark clouds gathering in my head. The only thing I wanted was the one thing I couldn’t have.
I wished I knew how to fight my way out of this sad, despondent state, but I didn’t know how to fight…period.
Snapshots of the many times I hadn’t stuck up for myself played in my mind like highlights from a bad movie. The first time Tabby chose a friend over me. The time I got locked in a janitor’s closet in high school for refusing to let a popular jock cheat off my Geometry quiz. The time my father signed me up for a doubles tournament at the club and gave my partner all the credit for our win.
I’d swallowed my frustrations like bitter pills, never fighting back. But I would’ve slayed a dragon for Noah. I just didn’t know how.
By the middle of the week, melancholy gave way to anger. It seeped into my bones and for once, I welcomed it. I held on to a simmering fury and wasn’t particularly bothered when Ezra and Cole gave me wide berth and “who are you?” looks when I griped at them to put their dishes in the dishwasher and clean their crumbs off the counter.
“You okay, dude?” Ezra asked, furrowing his brow.
“Of course, he is. He’s just reminding you to show some courtesy. By the way, it’s your turn to buy coffee,” Holden nagged.
“Fuck that. I just bought the fuckin’ coffee. Your problem is that you drink it faster than—”
“Enough!” I roared. All three roommates stared at me in shock. “Stop being jerks to each other. You’re both reasonably intelligent men. I’m sure you can figure out a way to communicate without theatrics every damn day. I’ll help you out with this one. How about if you both buy some fucking coffee?”
I whirled out of the kitchen, vaguely aware of the “What the fuck?” murmurs as I hurried upstairs to get ready for work.
“Tommy!” Holden caught up with me outside of my bedroom. “Are you okay?”