Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 79607 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 398(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79607 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 398(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
I’m stuck in my own thoughts as I follow Dash down the lit pathway leading up to the house, when something colorful catches my eye. The sight of those damn succulents—the one with the fleshy purple and bluish leaves—has a bitter laugh slipping out of my mouth. If I’d only known how alike Briar and those pointy-tipped succulents were back then. Both deceptively beautiful and innocent, but full of hidden, dangerous needles when given a closer look.
Once we’re inside the house, the smell hits me like a ton of bricks—like cinnamon and fresh laundry—and I pinch the bridge of my nose to fight off the onslaught of buried memories that rush to the surface. Memories of a young Briar tending to my wounds with her usually plump lips flattened into a hard line and her eyebrows creased with concern. Memories of stealing her first kiss in Dash’s room and hating myself for it afterward. Memories of having dinner with the whole family and staring at a piece of corn on the cob like it was from another planet. My family had corn out of a can. I didn’t know what to do with that shit. Briar noticed my hesitation, reached over and grabbed the corn, breaking off the leaves and silky strands. She disposed of them before handing my plate back with a soft smile. She didn’t make a big production out of it, and I doubt anyone else even noticed. But that was Briar for you. A tiny little girl with a heart too goddamn big for her body. But then she grew up to be just like the rest of the entitled assholes of Cactus Heights, Arizona.
“You can take the media room. I’d offer you my parents’ bed, but, that’s fucking gross,” Dash says, shuddering. “And the guest rooms are more of an office and an exercise room, so they don’t have any furniture.”
“That’s cool with me. Anything’s better than the bed at the motel.” I didn’t come from a life of luxury. I don’t need the finer things in life, but that shit was grimy as hell and I had at least six springs jabbing into me at any given time during the night. I’d gladly take their cushy couch. If it was the same one from when I was around, it’s more comfortable than anything I’ve ever owned.
We toss a few back in the kitchen, catching up, but not really going into detail of the past couple of years. It’s the elephant in the room, but I’m not ready for that talk. He’s not ready. Not for the reality of what happened and where I went. Not for finding out that his precious baby sister was the reason for it all.
I didn’t say a word when I left, not to Briar and not to Dash. At first, I wasn’t sure if he was in on it, too. Once I was able to think rationally, I realized that Dash probably had nothing to do with it. He would’ve tried to fight me if he knew about Briar and me.
Briar was like this little naïve angel. Always trying to help everyone and fix everything. She felt everyone’s pain as if it were her own. I couldn’t fault her for that, even if I didn’t understand it. In fact, I envied her ability to feel so much, when I could barely feel at all. Not unless she was around, anyway. Briar loved with her whole heart. And somehow, she thought someone like me was worthy of being on the receiving end of that love. I don’t mean romantic love. She was just a kid. But in the way you love your family, or a stray dog, more accurately in my case.
But for what she did that night? All because she had a bruised ego? That, I could fault her for. And I’ll continue to do so.
It all happened because of a kiss...
“I can see your wheels spinning, Kelley. I don’t know what the fuck happened, and I’m not gonna lie and say that I wasn’t pissed that you left without saying shit. You crushed my sister,” Dash starts, and my eyes snap to his. What the fuck?
“You were like another brother to her,” he continues, and I exhale in relief as I realize he still doesn’t know anything. “When I was too busy fucking off and getting laid, you were here, hanging out with her. She didn’t handle it well when you left. She cried for weeks, man. Weeks.”
I can feel my anger rising with every word. She is the victim in all of this? Give me a fucking break. If anything, it was her guilt keeping her awake. Not my absence. I squeeze the bottle of IPA so tightly that my knuckles turn white. But I don’t say a word.