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)
At the same time, I can’t pretend there isn’t something magical about being able to rest for once. I don’t have to struggle. There’s no looking over my shoulder anymore, waiting for the next terrible thing to catch up to me. It’s enough for us to be together, to know somebody will be there to catch me if I fall.
I might already be falling.
I blink hard, like that will do anything to wipe the thought from my mind. The last thought I need to have, ever. “What’s up?” Tucker asks, frowning.
I shake my head a little and try to smile, something that’s easier a week after the fight with Tiana. I still can’t believe it happened—it might as well have been a different girl brawling with her that day. “Nothing. Just had something in my eye.”
He leans his back against the tree, whose shade gives us a break from the warm early afternoon sun. There’s something peaceful about him right now, and I have to admit, at least to myself, it’s an improvement over his angry, nasty side. I like him much better this way, even if it’s still exciting when his eyes flash and a growl stirs in his throat.
I can almost imagine I really am his girlfriend as we sit here having lunch together before our last class of the day. Sitting through Political Science with him was nice, too, when every once in a while his leg would touch mine, and I couldn’t help but smile. Just that silent reminder he was there with me. If I tried every day for the rest of my life, I don’t know if I could explain what that means.
Of course, I don’t know if he’d want to hear it, either. We’re having fun together right now, and it’s easy to be happy when things are going well. It’s easy to forget everything else lingering under the surface, ready to jump out and ruin everything.
I guess my thoughts must show up on my face, because he leans in, taking my chin in his hand. It smells like the chips he’s eating with his sandwich. “What’s really happening in your head?” he asks, his eyes searching my face.
“Nothing,” I lie, before forcing the fake smile I’ve practiced for so long.
“Don’t you know by now you can’t fool me? That’s not some threat or anything, either,” he assures me. “It’s the truth. I see how worried you are. Nobody’s been giving you any shit when I’m not around, have they?”
“When are you ever not around?” I point out, laughing softly. He doesn’t think it’s so funny—his concerned frown turns to a scowl. “I’m just saying…” I take his hand and brush my lips against the palm before letting it go. “We’re together all the time.”
“Are you complaining?”
“Does it sound like I’m complaining?” To prove myself, I lean in closer to kiss him gently, soft, not the kind of kiss that’s going to stir anything up while we’re in front of everybody walking past. Though really, it doesn’t take much to get him excited. I’m the same way.
“I’m not complaining,” I insist, taking a bite of my sandwich.
“Then what is it? You do know you’re safe, right? I hate to think of you having all that shit still hanging over your head. The whole point is for you to be able to let that go.”
I wish it was that easy. I really do. “There’s still so much in here,” I confess, tapping my chest with one finger. “I wish it was as easy as deciding not to care anymore, not to worry.”
“What can we do about that?” he asks. The thing is, he means it. I know he does. He really believes it’s that easy. Like I can decide to let go of the past and presto, it’s gone. As tough as he is, as worldly and jaded, he’s also been pampered and sheltered all his life. It’s times like this when that really shows. Not that I can blame him.
“I don’t know,” I mumble before taking another bite of my sandwich. “I mean, it’s nice when you distract me from… you know.” I can’t make myself say it out here, where anybody might hear us. There’s still too much shame wrapped up in my scars. I know he understands, but that doesn’t make it any easier.
“But it doesn’t take every thought away,” he concludes. I hate how disappointed he sounds. I know he wants to be everything. He wants to cure me or something, but it’s not that simple.
“I wish I could tell you everything is perfect now, but it’s not. I’m too broken.”
“I don’t think that’s true.”
“Really? After the kind of things you used to say to me?” I’m not trying to make him feel bad, I’m really not, but at the same time, I can’t help reminding him every once in a while of how things were not very long ago. Maybe I’m reminding myself, too, since it’s easy to forget.