Total pages in book: 134
Estimated words: 124135 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 621(@200wpm)___ 497(@250wpm)___ 414(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 124135 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 621(@200wpm)___ 497(@250wpm)___ 414(@300wpm)
I pushed my tongue against my teeth to keep from falling apart too. Easton’s sobs grew louder, my friend losing it as he sat against the wall. I lifted my arm, letting it hover over him, until I laid it around his shoulder and pulled him to my chest. Easton fell against me. I stared across the room at his unfinished painting. At the black swirls and the turbulent paintbrush strokes.
It was this moment. It was exactly what he was feeling now. He’d known. Known something was wrong with Bonnie, but he hadn’t dared ask. As I stared at the painting, as Easton cried for his twin, I couldn’t help but see Bonnie’s face in my head. Her dark eyes and dark hair. Her pretty face. And her sitting up on that stage, guitar in her hands, violet blue pouring from her mouth. I gasped for breath when pure fear stole all the air in my lungs. Fear that I’d lose her before I truly got the chance to know her. My favorite color ripped from my life. Bonnie taken away before she could leave her fingerprint on the window of the world.
I shook my head, ignoring the damn tear that fell from the corner of my eye. “She won’t die,” I said, gripping Easton tighter. “She won’t die.”
My father’s face flashed into my mind, and with it came the reminder of the void his absence had brought, never to be refilled.
Until Bonnie Farraday walked into my life on a beach in Brighton and started bringing me something I didn’t even know I needed—silver.
Happiness.
Her.
“She won’t die,” I repeated one last time, letting the conviction of those words settle inside me.
Easton lifted his head ten minutes later. He wiped his eyes with his forearm and stared across at his painting. “I need to go see her.” I nodded, and Easton got to his feet.
I moved away from the door and sat on my bed. Easton rocked awkwardly on his feet. He scratched the back of his head. “If you’re in, you gotta be all in.” He took a deep breath. “It’s gonna be rough, and she’s gonna need those who love her around her.” Easton’s eyes bored right into mine, a clear challenge. Then his face softened. “She acts tough. She fights hard. But deep down, Bonn is terrified.” He swallowed, and I felt the lump in my throat thicken. “She doesn’t wanna die, Crom. She has so much fucking life in her that if she were to be taken away now…”
When he looked at me again, there was only conviction in his face. “She’s the best of us both. I’ve always known that.” He looked as if he wanted to say something else, but instead he left the room, leaving the shadow of his blacks and navy blues behind. I wasn’t sure anything else would color this room until Bonnie got the heart she needed.
I lay staring at the ceiling for an hour before getting up and taking a shower. As the water fell over my head, running down my body and hitting the tiles at my feet, Bonnie’s question wouldn’t leave my head. The one about the unfinished piece I had accidently played that night. The one I hadn’t touched in three years. I laid my forehead against the wall and closed my eyes. But the water from the shower, like rain on the window, like the sound of the tears that fell all those nights ago, brought that piece to my mind.
Easton’s dark colors danced in my eyes as the piece grew in volume. And I couldn’t shut it off. Like a flood, it stormed the dam, demolishing the walls.
The shower room was silent, empty but for me this late at night. And I was glad. I was glad as my hands slapped at the tiles when my legs became weak, the music playing in my head, the opening bars crushing my heart. Only now, instead of just my father’s face in my mind, Bonnie’s was there too. I shook my head, trying to get them all to leave me alone. I couldn’t cope with the emotions they brought. The emotions that were too much, too bloody much for me to take.
Colors burst like fireworks in my head. My stomach tightened, my heart pulled, and my legs gave way. I dropped to the floor, the hot water turning cold as it battered my head in rhythmic beats. And then the tears fell. The water and the tears were a blur as they collided and crashed to the floor. Though neither felt cleansing.
Nothing but the “gift” I’d been given would take these feelings from me. I sat back on my knees and stared down at my hands. They were shaking. They curled into fists, and I wanted to smash them against the tiles. But I didn’t. Because the need to create governed my choices right. My hands were my tools. They were the only things that could take these emotions away.