Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 91560 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 458(@200wpm)___ 366(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91560 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 458(@200wpm)___ 366(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
There were so many things I took for granted. There’s nobody who cares anymore whether I have a warm towel, or whether we have my favorite protein bars or if I would like a sweater they’d found while shopping. I lost so much I never knew I had at the time. Why is it like that? Why can’t we appreciate what we have while we have it?
I need to stop thinking so much about her, but tonight it seems impossible. She weighs heavily on my heart. I miss her so much. She would know what to do about Tucker, about so many things.
But then, if it hadn’t been for losing her, I wouldn’t have gotten mixed up with Tucker to begin with. So many things would be different.
To think, I imagined myself lying awake in bed tonight since it was too early to go to sleep. By the time I’m in my pajamas and crawling into bed, I’m exhausted. Wrung out, empty. Sliding between the sheets and resting my head on the pillow is nice, but there’s always going to be a part of me that doesn’t think I deserve it. Even this comfort is too much.
My punishment? Easy. Closing my eyes and drifting off to sleep. Descending into a nightmare that happens to be my memory. The sounds of crickets chirping outside and the faint whoosh of cars passing on the street fade into silence that is only punctured by my heart beating in my ears.
“Mom?” I would’ve sworn I heard her coming down the stairs, telling me to give her a second. She’s wearing sandals after having a pedicure, and I’ve heard them slapping the floor ever since she got home from shopping while Dad’s at work. Was I imagining hearing them on the stairs while I was digging through the pantry?
“I’m freaking starving, you know.” My voice echoes through the kitchen once I leave the pantry, then walk out to the hall leading to the center of the house. Maybe she got distracted or something. “You always move stuff! Just tell me where you put them. I want to take one with me to—”
At first, I’m sure it must be a joke. That’s how unthinkable it is. That’s how impossible.
That is not my mother lying on the floor at the bottom of the stairs, with her head turned to the side so her wide eyes can stare blankly at me. Her beautiful, strawberry blonde curls fan out around her on the tile.
Except the patch of hair that’s much darker. Deep red. Like wine.
Or blood.
“Mom?” I’m frozen. I can’t move. If I move, that means this is real, and it isn’t real. She’s pranking me. Reminding me not to be so impatient. After all, what would I do without her?
She’s not blinking. She’s not breathing.
“Mom!” I hurl myself across the floor, sliding partway when my legs give out. Almost crawling to her, shaking her, screaming until my voice gives out. Demanding. Insisting she wake up and talk to me. She cannot be dead. There is no way she’s dead.
But she is dead. She’s staring at me, but she can’t see me. She’ll never see anything again, and all because I was screaming for her to find something for me. I made her hurry up. She probably slipped and fell because she wanted to help me.
Ice begins to spread through my veins, starting at my heart and growing, expanding, filling me up. I can’t handle this. There is no way I can handle this. It’s too much.
“Help me!” My shrieks go unheard.
I’m the only one left alive in the house, after all.
5
TUCKER
“Anyway, they both ended up wearing me on their tongues.” Carter’s triumphant smile is only in place because Wren got up to grab herself a drink from the soda machine. I can tell he’s been waiting all through lunch to tell that story. As it turns out, both Allie and Alex were hungry for his dick during the party and had taken turns on him until he came across their tongues. Funny how boring the story sounds when I recap it in my head.
What am I going to do, tell him that? Especially when he’s walking around on Cloud Nine, acting like the world’s biggest stud. “That’s, like, bucket list-level shit,” I decide, lifting my fist to bump his when he holds it out.
“Glad I could help you get your dick wet last night.” Briggs shakes his head, laughing dryly. “I should throw more parties. Am I a pimp now?”
“You’re just not used to having house parties,” I remind him. It’s not like we’ve never done that kind of thing before. I’ve probably gotten off in most of my classmates’ bedrooms over the years. But Briggs is usually a visitor, not a host.
“What the hell happened to you last night?” When his attention swings around and lands on me, I wish I had never said anything. He’s only curious, the way any friend would be, but it’s a loaded question. He just doesn’t know it.