Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 83550 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 418(@200wpm)___ 334(@250wpm)___ 279(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83550 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 418(@200wpm)___ 334(@250wpm)___ 279(@300wpm)
There’s a pause. When her next message comes through, it’s softer. Like she understands exactly what I mean.
FragileLikeABomb
Then maybe you haven’t met the right people yet. The ones who don’t need the lies. Sometimes trust is just… surviving, you know? Getting through each day in order to conquer the next.
My chest tightens. There’s something about her words that feels meant for me, not just my screen. Before I can respond, she sends another message.
FragileLikeABomb
Guess it’s hard to tell who to trust when it feels like everyone’s hiding something. Sometimes I think we even hide the truth from ourselves. Anything to make life easier.
I stare at the screen, letting her words settle into the parts of me I usually keep locked away. It’s like she knows what it’s like to carry secrets that weigh you down, to wear a mask just to get through the day.
FragileLikeABomb
Are you good?
I draw a deep breath into my lungs and hold it until they burn.
Me
Yeah, I am. Thanks.
FragileLikeABomb
No problem. That’s what I’m here for.
Me
I’m glad you are.
I second-guess myself as soon as I hit send. This is the most real I’ve been with anyone, and it makes me feel like my skin is too tight for my body.
Just when I consider ending the conversation, another message pops up.
FragileLikeABomb
Enough heaviness for tonight. Let’s keep it light. Favorite movie. Go.
A smirk tugs at my lips as the tension drains away.
Me
Not telling. You’ll laugh.
FragileLikeABomb
Now you have to tell me. Come on, spill.
I hesitate, then type it out, feeling ridiculous but strangely relieved when I hit send.
Me
Fine. Die Hard. Maybe it’s not a Christmas movie, but it’s my guilty pleasure.
Her response is instant.
FragileLikeABomb
Die Hard?! All right, I’ll give you points for taste. But I’ll bet you’ve never watched The Breakfast Club.
Me
What? Please. The Breakfast Club is a classic.
FragileLikeABomb
We might have more in common than I thought. Scary.
I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding, feeling lighter. The emotions about Holland still simmer beneath the surface as I tell myself that this thing with FragileLikeABomb isn’t dangerous.
How could it be when it’s anonymous?
Detached.
Safe.
Maybe like she said, it’s one of the lies we tell ourselves to make it through to the next day.
7
Holland
“I’m sorry, he did what?” Ava’s coffee cup freezes halfway to her mouth, her eyes wide. “Bridger actually accused you of posting those anonymous messages online?”
“Yup,” I say, shrugging with an indifference I don’t feel. “Apparently, I’m living rent-free in his head. Evil plan accomplished.”
Willow bites her lip, giving me one of her careful looks, the kind that makes me want to squirm. “So, what really happened with you two anyway? Because the daggers you shoot at him aren’t exactly subtle, and now he’s accusing you of, what, cyberstalking?”
I roll my eyes as a slight twist of unease settles in my stomach.
“Nothing happened. At least—” The words stick in my throat. “Nothing that matters.”
They continue to stare.
“Fine.” The admission feels like glass in my mouth. “Freshman year we hooked up. Once. And before either of you say anything, just know that it was an accident and totally meaningless.”
“An accident?” Ava’s eyebrow arches. “Did you trip and fall on his—”
“Don’t.” My lips twitch despite myself.
“Are you sure it was meaningless?” Willow’s voice softens. “Because from where I’m sitting—”
“Trust me, it was nothing.” The words come out too sharp, too fast. “He’s an egotistical asshat who thinks I’m obsessed with him. Like I have time for that.”
“Or maybe,” Willow ventures carefully, “you’re both still a little hung up on each other?”
I turn my glare on her. “The only thing I’m hung up on is how he ghosted me like I was some random puck bunny.”
Shit. I didn’t mean to say that.
“Hold up.” Ava straightens. “He ghosted you?”
“It doesn’t matter.” I glance at the clock, and relief floods me. “I need to go. Mom stuff.”
“Holland—”
“Say hi to Vivienne,” Willow calls as I grab my bag.
Guilt twists in my stomach as I meet her eyes. For a second, I consider spilling everything. About the club, about Ice, about how that night with Bridger meant more than I’ve ever admitted to anyone.
Instead, I run.
The Envy Room is already packed when I arrive, the parking lot full of expensive cars belonging to men trying to buy what they can’t have. Rocco gives me his usual chin lift as I pass, which I return. We’re both people of few words.
The dressing room thrums with conversation and the muffled bass from the club, but I barely notice. My mind keeps circling back to Bridger. To the hurt in his eyes before he masked it with anger. To the way he’d pressed me against those library shelves like he couldn’t decide if he wanted to kiss me or kill me.
“You look ready to commit murder.” Jade drops into the chair beside me. “Bad day?”
I let out a sharp laugh. “Something like that.”