Total pages in book: 213
Estimated words: 201920 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1010(@200wpm)___ 808(@250wpm)___ 673(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 201920 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1010(@200wpm)___ 808(@250wpm)___ 673(@300wpm)
My body jolts when the phone in my hand pings.
I have several messages from my mother to read still. I can’t bring myself to look right now. I’m so weak I’d tell her everything.
I can feel the confession on the tip of my tongue. The last time I confessed to her, it ruined me and turned me hateful. I can’t make that mistake again.
I need to tell someone.
The words are so close to escaping, I almost told Angie. A girl I don’t even know. Simply because she was there to listen.
She spoiled it, though. I could feel the weight lifting off my shoulders before I even let the truth escape. Class was over, Dean never showed, and the emptiness inside me brewed to a boil. Even though it was perfect. This is perfect.
“I think it’s best to stay away from guys like that,” she told me.
And that’s what made me keep quiet.
What kept the words deep down inside.
What if I didn’t want to stay away?
What if I knew what I was doing?
She wouldn’t understand and she’d be disgusted with me if I told her what I really wanted. More than anything else. But it’s our secret. Our promise. They won’t know why.
My phone pings again and my body shudders. I’m quick to place it on silent but then the thought of missing a text from Dean makes me change it back.
Pathetic.
I’m so fucking pathetic. Clinging to the idea of what could be.
As if it would even be possible for someone like me.
Someone so consumed with destruction.
I glance at the texts from my mom.
The first line is from me to her.
Only an apology, and a vague one at that.
I’m sorry, I told her. I couldn’t not say it. Not while I sat in that hotel room wishing she were with me. Wishing I could take it all back. If only it were so easy to pluck words from the air and tuck them into your back pocket.
The series of texts from my mother hasn’t stopped since then.
I think she thought I’d killed myself until I told her I hadn’t.
I’m sorry for running. I sent her that text to explain, but it’s not much of an explanation at all. I can’t tell her the truth though because I’m still running, and she’ll stop me.
Just like Dean would.
They can’t stop this from happening. My body stiffens when I see my mother’s last text.
I’m coming to see you.
I start to respond, but what can I say? No, don’t. It’s not like she’ll listen.
When I delete it without hitting send, another text from her comes through.
You won’t talk to me and this has to stop.
What has to stop? I text back.
I know that will make her drop it. Because she can’t admit what happened. She can’t apologize to me for what she did. She can’t speak the truth.
I miss you, she finally answers me.
I wonder which version of me she misses. Probably the younger version. The one that isn’t so fucked in the head.
I miss the old me too. But she’s long dead and has been for years.
DEAN
The beer is cold and the head of it foams just right. It looks like a picture for a beer ad as it sits on the walnut bar of the Iron Heart Brewery on Lincoln and Church.
My back’s to the door as I sit at the far end of the bar, closest to the large glass window. More people walk into the already crowded place, but I don’t pay any attention to the chatter. I only stare out the window at the parking lot across the street.
“You want something else?” the bartender asks me and when I look up at him, interrupting whatever thought was in my head, he nods to the untouched beer.
“Nah, I’m good,” I tell him and take a swig. Maybe I should ask for something stronger. Maybe I shouldn’t drink at all. I don’t know. I don’t know shit and that’s all I know for sure.
“All the way out here?” a voice too close for comfort asks and I turn around to see Daniel sliding onto the barstool next to me.
“I’ll have what he’s having,” he tells the bartender and then squares his shoulders forward and squints like he’s looking up at the menu.
“Some funny names for beer,” he says absently.
“All local drafts,” I tell him.
“Is that why you came all the way out here?” he asks me and I turn my gaze back to my beer and then take another long pull. I’m here because it’s right around the corner from Dr. Robinson’s office. I’m here because it’s easy. The beer’s good, the vibe is right, and everyone here leaves me the hell alone.
“How’d you find me?” I ask him and he shrugs.
“Been barhopping,” he says like it’s a coincidence. I huff in disbelief but I don’t push him. Daniel’s background isn’t exactly sparkling clean.