Total pages in book: 153
Estimated words: 145123 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 726(@200wpm)___ 580(@250wpm)___ 484(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 145123 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 726(@200wpm)___ 580(@250wpm)___ 484(@300wpm)
Me: No offense, but you’re doing a TERRIBLE job.
Sam: Oh, I’m sorry? Did you expect me to be creative in the environment I’m currently living in? DAD IS SHITTING WITH THE DOOR OPEN RIGHT NOW, BROOKE. WHY, YOU ASK? Because he took all the doors off all the bathrooms! The kids got into the toothpaste ONE TIME, and he’s gone fully insane. THERE ARE NO DOORS ON THE BATHROOMS. AT ALL. And you’re on a tour for fucking Netflix. So, tell me again, which one of us is it who needs to be talked off the ledge, huh? WHICH ONE??
I survey my emotions again, and in the strangest way possible, her rant worked just as I asked, bringing me back to reality and putting some steady ground under my feet.
This isn’t the end of the world—far from it. This is just…life. And it could be a lot worse. Say, having to shit without doors, for example.
In the real world, sometimes we crush on people who aren’t available or who we don’t actually end up with.
Sure, most people don’t go so far as to write an entire book about those things, but I’m an author. Turning my emotions to the page is what I do. It’s my outlet, my sanity, my routine. I’ve just done what I know, and now—now that I know he’s with someone else—I can put all of this behind me and focus on making it a good story. Clive and River can just be.
Yeah, I’m okay. It’s all good. Really. Or at least, I will be in three to five business days after I’ve left time for “processing.” I sink from my roosting place to my butt and try to make my shoulders relax.
I also text my sister back.
Me: Thank you. That was just what I needed. And I’m sorry about the open-air shitting. I really, really hope it gets better soon.
Sam: I’ll let you know my check-in date for the psych ward.
Me: And which one, too. Don’t forget that. I want to be able to visit.
Sam: Love you, fucker.
Me: Love you too, Sammy.
With that all settled, I set my phone on the nightstand and lean back into the pillows at the top of the bed. I need to get up and do my face moisturizer and change into my pajamas and brush my teeth, but I’ll do that in a minute when—
The sound of the door opening in the living room makes me sit up straight, my anxiety spiking all the way into the reddening cartilage of my ears.
Okay, maybe I’m not that okay. I need the processing time!
“Brooke?” Chase calls from the living room, and it’s at the sound of his voice that I understand just how not okay I am. Man, as it turns out, I am really good at lying to myself.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
Panic makes me frantic, shifting from one side of the bed to the other to search the little back bedroom for something. I have no flipping clue what I’m looking for, though, because it’s not like a weapon will do me any good unless I use it to stab my own self in the heart. Which…has some merit.
I can hear Chase’s gentle footsteps approaching the door, and Benji sits up to an alert position next to me on the bed. I’m obviously approaching the entrance ramp to passing the hell out, but at this point, I would genuinely welcome it.
The sadistic thought is shockingly helpful, and almost instantaneously, I flop back onto the bed, close my eyes, and do my best impression of a woman fast asleep. As long as he doesn’t look too closely at the violent heave of my chest, I think it’ll be convincing.
I wait and wait and wait for him to open the door and peek in, but the time never comes. Instead, he knocks lightly—just once in an almost high-five-like gesture—and whispers through the wood. “Goodnight, Brooke.”
I wait until I hear the sound of him walking away and then sit up straight again, scratching Benji behind the ears.
“Goodnight, Chase. Goodnight, Dreams. Goodnight, Misguided Crush. Goodnight, Moon,” I whisper so only Benji can hear.
His head cranes, and I sigh, speaking so softly, I almost can’t even hear myself with my own ears. “I know, Benj. I know. Mama’s crazy. You don’t have to say anything.”
He tucks his head back down in a crease in the comforter and groans. He knows just as well as I do that this is going to be a long three weeks. It’s going to be hard and awkward and more complicated than I even imagined, and trust me, I imagined it being tangled as fuck.
But it is what it is, and like my sister Sammy said, at least I don’t have to shit with no door.
Plus, there’s the whole Netflix tour and dreams coming true and even the success of this upcoming book. It’s all good, even if it doesn’t feel like it right now.