Total pages in book: 122
Estimated words: 115590 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 578(@200wpm)___ 462(@250wpm)___ 385(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115590 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 578(@200wpm)___ 462(@250wpm)___ 385(@300wpm)
“Who said anything about closing it?” Like hell I was letting that girl anywhere near me with a needle.
“You can’t leave it like that. You got any superglue?”
I laughed. “You’re kidding me, right?”
“My mom went through a self-harm phase on a bad batch of crack.” She grabbed the pot of water and some paper towels, then came back to the table and started cleaning the cut. “Couldn’t exactly take her to the ER because she’d end up in the nuthouse. So, superglue.” She shrugged. “It works. Where’s the glue?”
I pointed to the drawer beside the stove. Roe grabbed the crinkled tube, then came back and pinched the skin around the wound together while unscrewing the green cap with her teeth. The second that shit hit my skin, I winced, gritting my teeth at the obnoxious sting.
She smirked. “Don’t be a baby.”
I couldn’t remember the last time anyone had taken care of me like that. And it wasn’t until that moment I realized how much I wanted—needed something like this. Monroe blew on it before she let go. I glanced down at the disgusting, wrinkled skin held together by dried globs of glue.
“I should go home,” she said, pushing to her feet. Her car wasn’t here, and it was late.
“Is Jade coming to get you?”
“She didn’t answer. Her mom must have taken her phone again.”
I watched her for a second, shifting on her feet and staring at the floor. “You could just stay.”
She chewed at her lip. “Or, you could just take me.”
“I could.” But I didn’t want to. I passed through the doorway into the living room.
“What if I don’t want to stay?”
I stopped beside the couch. “Do you not want to stay?” I waited, knowing this—us—was becoming a habit. That we were both probably out of our element. We were loners when it came to relationships, but the more time I spent around her, I was finding it hard to believe that anyone would really want to be alone. Even her.
Monroe tugged at a loose thread on her sleeve. “I don’t know.”
“Well,” I grabbed onto the railing and started up the steps to my room. “Until you do know…”
I was halfway up the stairwell before her footsteps followed behind me and down the hall. She stopped in the doorway.
“Change your mind?”
“Not sure yet.” She moved to my desk and took a seat, running her hand over the open sketchbook. “Can I see your other drawings?”
I didn’t share those with anyone. Ever. Not since my mom had died. That book was full of nightmares and regrets, worst of all, hopes.
“You don’t have to,” she added.
I stepped up behind her, staring over her shoulder at the sketch I had made of her. Part of me wanted to show her, and that scared the shit out of me. “Why do you want to see them?”
“I don’t know.” She traced a finger over the outlines. “Maybe I just want to know more about you.”
On a snort, I took the sketchpad in my hand. “And you think drawings are gonna tell you something?”
“This tells me more than you’ve ever said.” Her finger tapped the page. “Cryptic, remember?”
I thumbed through the edge of the pages. “And when are you going to let me know something about you?” I didn’t miss the way her shoulders tensed, like she was getting ready for a fight.
“What do you want to know?”
A thousand things. I moved to my bed and took a seat, flipping to the first page. A ghastly green face stared back at me, the word CRACK in yellow letters instead of teeth. It was my mom, the way I saw her when she wasn’t sober. “For every picture I show you, I get a question. Okay?” I held out the notebook. When she grabbed it, I didn’t let go for a second. “Because I don’t let anyone see these—ever.” The moment her gaze dropped to the page, I focused on the bedspread. I didn’t want to see her reaction.
“Ask me.”
I had no idea where to start because I wasn’t sure how many pictures I was okay with her seeing. With each page, those pictures got darker and darker. Which meant I should start with the question that ate away at me. Get that one out of the way. “Who hits you?”
Her gaze snapped to mine, and she closed the book. “This was a bad idea.”
“You don’t want to keep going? Fine. But you already saw the picture. And that’s my question.” My jaw tightened. “Answer it, Roe.”
She inhaled a hard breath, her gaze falling to the bed. “It’s not that bad. He only gets fisty if he’s drunk. Or I piss him off.”
Not that bad. I fisted the sheet, trying to temper the anger coursing through me.
“You have to promise you won’t do anything,” she said.
As much as I wanted to be the one to deliver some justice, at this point, I would be just as happy to pay someone else to do it. “I won’t do anything.”