Total pages in book: 135
Estimated words: 128430 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 642(@200wpm)___ 514(@250wpm)___ 428(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 128430 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 642(@200wpm)___ 514(@250wpm)___ 428(@300wpm)
Stopping with at least ten feet between us, she adds, “You didn’t just kill my mom that night. You broke me.” The final blow lands right where it’s intended—my heart—and knocks the breath from me.
This time, I let her go, unsure what to say anymore because she’s right. If she carries that hate for me around with her for the rest of her life, I’d deserve no less.
I remain where she left me until she crosses the street and disappears inside her building. We’re lost in a circumstance that’s out of our control, pawns in a bigger game.
But the one thing I can control is not allowing my parents to win. The truth will set us free. Even if it’s away from my eternity. My parents no longer have power over me.
Without Story, what’s left in this world for me?
Getting in the car, I find the papers scattered across the front seat. She found Hank’s statement from the accident that night, but my arrest record is still lying on the passenger’s seat. She put the puzzle together just like I did. Until I saw the repercussions of my actions that night in this file, I didn’t realize that the ties that bound Story and me together were the same ones that tore us apart.
I thought the lie that would destroy us would be how I got Eliza to hook up with Troy the night of the party. Because who does that? Someone selfish. Someone evil. Someone sad. Me. Now that’s another secret that will remain buried inside me.
I can’t be mad that we ended this way. Story Salenger deserves a good life, and that’s something I would never be able to give her. I have to listen to the universe. It always has a master plan. I nod, starting the engine and knowing that I’ll take the fall and pay my dues if it allows Story to sleep better at night.
As noble as that sounds to me, the pain of losing her is too much to bear.
I wait all day, ready for it to be night.
I’m not waiting for dusk but the hours before dawn. It doesn’t take that long to be noticed and for them to take the bait just before midnight. No way would a two-hundred-and-fifty-thousand-dollar car be left alone all night. Not in Troy Hogan’s neighborhood. He and his friends show up, ready for me as if they’ve been waiting for years.
I know they have because I did too for the longest time.
It may have been the car that got their attention first. But I got it second. Standing in front of his truck blocking a headlight, he’s predictable with his hand pumping into the other. Something about crossing lines too many times is being yelled across the divide, but I don’t need the foreplay. I just need this pain to be replaced by another.
The first blow takes me down.
The next has me gasping for air.
I’ll take every punch, every hit and kick if it gets me closer to blacking out. Going to hell under his hands beats the purgatory of existing without Story in my life.
Death is sweeter than the bitter taste of my past. With no future to look forward to, I don’t bother fighting back.
33
Story
I waited.
I don’t know why.
For days, I waited to hear from him again.
No calls. Or texts.
No flowers or apologies.
He didn’t even pick up his car as it sat parked outside my apartment for a week.
Instead of sleeping with him each night like I used to do, the pregnancy stick on his pillow keeps me company. There’s something about those two little lines that make me feel less . . . alone.
The vomiting subsided after twenty-four hours. That’s when I realized it wasn’t being pregnant that made me sick, but the trauma of losing Cooper. But maybe it was the sign I needed to make me take the test, along with the cashier, of course.
After doing some research, since I had time on my hands, the positive test meant I’d been pregnant for weeks, if not a month or more, before graduation. And now I’ve started puking again. I just can’t tell if it’s from the horrendous pain of losing him, learning of his part in my mom’s death, or because this baby wants my attention.
To overcome the heartbreak that has settled into my chest, I find comfort in rubbing my belly sometimes when I think of him. I’m not sure it’s healthy or even matters, but the thought of this baby created from love is more appealing than from the end of our relationship.
And then a dose of reality and the role he’s played in my life comes crashing in again. How can I forgive him? How do I show him grace for a mistake he made?
It was a mistake. My logical side knows this, but it doesn’t change the outcome or the devastation. Cooper’s actions led directly to her death and took my one constant, even if not always reliable, away from me. I was a parentless teenager with no one left to care about me.