Total pages in book: 137
Estimated words: 138642 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 693(@200wpm)___ 555(@250wpm)___ 462(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 138642 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 693(@200wpm)___ 555(@250wpm)___ 462(@300wpm)
“No, damn you!” I shoot back, and dammit, I’m trying not to yell but she just pulls it out of me. “Don’t. Just don’t fucking give up on him, okay? That’s what I’m asking, all I ever asked.”
“If you think just because I want to go to college, I’m giving up on my brother...” Ophelia stands. Her slender frame thrums with energy, with anger, shivering so hard that loose shirt shakes against her body, her eyes lit furious. “You don’t know me at all, Grant. I’m going. I’m going, and you can’t stop me.”
“Never tried,” I snarl, rising to my feet. “Go on. Fucking go to Florida. Leave your family.” Leave me, I don’t say, still tasting those bitter words. “You’re gonna run, Ophelia? That’s your answer? You’re gonna run away from Ethan?” I grind my teeth. “Then get out. Get the fuck out of here and don’t come back.”
I don’t mean it.
I don’t fucking mean it at all, but there’s this sudden scalding panic in my chest at the idea of never seeing Ophelia Sanderson again.
I don’t know if it’s because I’m having this crazy déjà vu over the thought of her disappearing just like her brother or if I’m actually wanting her to—
No.
I can’t think about that shit.
I already planted my foot in my mouth so far it’s blown out my ass.
Ophelia’s eyes widen.
There’s an instant hurt, where I know those tears aren’t just for Ethan, but because I just stabbed her so brutally.
Then it closes over behind anger, her mouth setting with stubborn determination.
“Fine,” she bites off, cutting and cold. “I will. If I don’t come back, I won’t have to deal with angry pricks like you. Get lost, Grant. I don’t want to see you again.”
Just like that.
Believe me, I know it’s what I deserve.
Her ripping my beating heart out with a few savage words, sentencing me to the same fate that has me so piss scared.
But before I can say anything, she whirls around and she’s gone, slamming through the back door of her house into the golden glow of her kitchen.
Just a last whipping slash of her baggy butterfly shirt before I can’t see her anymore and I’m alone.
I stand there like the colossal idiot I am for the longest time.
The night hums with crickets and frogs, a whole world indifferent to my suffering and my stupidity.
I know I need to leave.
This isn’t my house anymore, even if it’s been a second home since I was a kid.
Even if those memories I cherish double as a torture chamber now.
Late nights watching movies in the Sandersons’ living room, me and Ethan sitting cross-legged on the floor with our faces nearly pressed to the TV. We were glued to some bad monster movie or clutching our controllers tight as we tried to shoot every zombie.
Ophelia would sneak down way past her bedtime and curl up on the sofa, hugging her blanket with the red butterflies to her chest, glued to us like a little burr.
Tumbling around the backyard. Chasing each other through the woods bordering the property, telling ghost stories, daring each other to do stupid kid shit.
Back then, the three of us were inseparable.
The world made sense.
When Ethan disappeared, the glue holding us together came apart along with reality, leaving this chaos that has my dumb ass spinning in circles.
The screen door squeals behind me and I turn. “Ophelia—”
But it’s not her.
Angela Sanderson steps out on the back porch, her movements slow and graceful.
She’s the spitting image of an older Ophelia, grace and beauty refined into something more reserved and dignified and weathered.
Instead of Ophelia’s shining green eyes, her mother’s eyes are a soft, compassionate brown. She still wears a scarf over her tumbles of blonde hair, even after all these years. Used to be, she’d wear it to cover how her hair was falling out from the chemo while she fought off cancer, but now it’s like it’s part of Angela’s whole look, a trademark modest thing.
Just as familiar as her gentle smile as she looks up at me, sighing. “Fighting again, are you? You two are like oil and water lately, sad to say.”
“Guess so, ma’am.” I grumble, trailing into a groan.
Smile lingering, Angela stops at my side, folding her slender hands in front of her and looking out into the night. The faint moonlight glows against her pale skin while those night sounds drone on.
“Do you know what your problem is? Both of you.”
“We’re both too mouthy for our own good, ma’am?”
“Sometimes,” she admits with a touch of humor. She glances at me sidelong, knowing. “The real problem is neither of you ever say what you really mean to each other.”
“I...” I cough.
Oh, shit. Am I that transparent?
Clearing my throat, I look away too quickly, staring up at the night sky.
“Yeah. I guess that’s an issue. Too late now, though. She’s made up her mind and she’s goin’ away.”