Total pages in book: 171
Estimated words: 170885 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 854(@200wpm)___ 684(@250wpm)___ 570(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 170885 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 854(@200wpm)___ 684(@250wpm)___ 570(@300wpm)
“I don’t give a fuck what you like. I don’t give a fuck about you or how you’re doing. I told you we’re fucking done, so stay the fuck away from me.”
“But I don’t want to,” I threw his words back at him, too drunk to care about how desperate I sounded.
“What the fuck did you just say?”
“I don’t want to. You obviously don’t want to, either, or you wouldn’t be talking to me. You’re that obsessed with me, huh?”
“I’m so over your bullshit.”
“Liar. You can’t stay away from me, Niko.” I used another one of his sentences. “You know you want me. No matter what I do, you come crawling back to me.”
He hung up then, and I cursed myself for the overconfident tone I used when, really, I just wanted to hear his voice, even angry and wrong. Even if he was calling me by my full name, it was still his voice that I’d spent way too long without.
Then I went to bed, imagining his strong arms encircling me and his chest beneath my head.
For some reason, I thought he’d text me today and had my hopes up when I felt the vibration just now, but it’s not his name that’s on the screen.
Dad
Call me as soon as possible, Bran. No matter how hard it is, I want you to remember that you have a family who loves you and would stand behind you no matter what. You’re not alone, son. Okay?
Pressure builds behind my eyes and I let the Swiss Army knife fall to the table, then rub the heels of my palms against my eyes.
I don’t think he knows how much I needed to hear that. Or maybe he does. Dad has always been really good at reading the atmosphere and providing me with the right support at the right time.
Me
What’s normal, Dad? And please don’t call. I don’t want to talk on the phone.
Dad
Normal is whatever you decide it is.
What if my notion of normal is drastically different from everyone else’s? I don’t like being different. I hate it. I can’t cope with it.
Bran, listen. Society’s perception of normal is a learned concept. It’s an opinion that was passed down through generations until it eventually became a tradition. It’s rooted in people’s minds because it’s been taught for a long time, but fundamentally, it’s just an opinion. It means nothing just because people conform to it. You being different is fucking fantastic, son. You’ve risen above their sheep mentality and you can choose to be proud of your difference instead of hating it. It might take time to shake off society’s perceptions, but that’s okay. I’m here. Your mum is here. Your whole family is here to help you. All you have to do is say the words.
I don’t want to be different, Dad. I want to be like Lan. Why can’t I just be like him?
Lan is different, too, Bran. He’s so different, it drives me insane. He’s so different, he wears it like a badge of honor. You know this. He’s literally been diagnosed with narcissistic and antisocial personality disorder.
Yeah, but he seems normal.
Because he fakes it.
I fake it, too, but I don’t tell him that.
Me
Thanks, Dad. I’ll talk to you later.
Dad
Come over when you can. I have a lot of new recipes to teach you.
I send him a few heart emojis and then hide the knife, add a new plaster, and put on my watch.
On my way out of the studio, I congratulate myself for stepping back from the edge. Though it was all Dad’s work, really.
But for how long can I keep up this façade before it explodes in my face…?
Loud voices reach me as soon as I’m close to the living room. Lan—of course, he’s ninety-nine percent the reason behind all trouble—Eli, and surprisingly, Creigh, who barely speaks.
He’s shouting now.
“What’s with all the commotion—what the…” I trail off when I see Creigh beating Lan to a pulp against the sofa.
I storm toward them, but Eli grabs me by the nape and pulls me back. “This isn’t your place.”
“What the actual hell? Lan’s bleeding.”
“Aw. You worried about me? I should’ve asked Creigh to beat me up earlier.” My brother can barely speak, teeth bloodied, but he drops a hand on his chest. “So touched, I could cry.”
I wiggle against Eli’s hand, but my cousin keeps me in a death grip while Creigh continues punching my brother.
“Stop them!” I bark at Eli. “Why are you letting this happen?”
“Your brother needs to be put in his fucking place.”
“He’s going to kill him!”
“Small price to pay for all the fuckery he does.”
My heart lunges harder the more Creigh beats Lan. The sound of his punches echoes in the air like a haunting symphony of violence. The fact that I can’t help fills my throat with nausea.