Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 100476 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 502(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100476 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 502(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
Ryan: I miss you. Your beautiful face. Your soft hair. If you were with me, right now, I’d put your head in my lap and stroke your hair, baby. I’d make it all better.
His sweetness is sickening to me.
My fingers shake as I type out a reply, choking back tears. I’m thankful Mom’s at work. Penny is watching Sebban and Aunt Karen went to the store.
Me: We’re done, Ryan.
The phone rings in my hand. Over and over. It goes to voicemail and he calls again. I stare, trembling, as he calls me sixteen times in a row. Then, he finally texts back.
Ryan: Answer your damn phone. You can’t do this to me. Not after nearly killing us. If I’d gotten hurt and couldn’t play basketball, it would have fucked up my scholarship. I deserve to be heard.
Ryan: You’re a fucking spoiled brat.
Ryan: Do you know what kind of begging I had to do with my dad to keep you out of trouble? You owe me, Char.
Ryan: Why are you being such a bitch?
Ryan: Answer the goddamn phone!
It rings ten more times. He leaves a voicemail, but I quickly delete it, unable to hear his voice.
Ryan: I’m sorry. Fuck, Char. Okay? I’m sorry I got mad. I love you.
Ryan: Call me.
Ryan: I’m coming over.
Me: I’m not home. I’m at Dad’s office.
Lies. But I can’t deal with him in person. Alone. No way.
Ryan: Sneak out. I can meet you in the alley.
Me: He won’t let me.
Ryan: Find a way.
I stop replying.
Ryan: I’m sorry. I just miss you. And the baby.
Closing my eyes, I swallow down the sob. I should block his number. Tell my dad. Something. Not continue to read his texts.
Ryan: I was angry when you told me you were pregnant, but I’ve had time to think on it. I won’t go to college. I’ll stay here and get a job. I’ll marry you. We can be a family.
Words. His words always sounded good. It was his actions that were horrible.
Me: I lost the baby.
Ryan: We’ll make another one.
I toss my phone onto the bed, burying my face in my hands. Ever since the accident, I’ve been in a holding pattern. Unsure which way to go. I feel like I’m standing on thin ice, waiting for it to crack and send me crashing into the icy abyss. Nothing feels certain. All held together by fraying threads.
My phone buzzes, drawing my attention back to it.
Ryan: Maybe we’ll have a little girl and she’ll look like you. Long blond hair. Pretty like her mom.
I shudder at the image of Ryan as a father. Would he snag the little girl up by her hair and yell in her face? Tell her she’s a worthless whore? Shake her and choke her and bruise her?
The room blurs as I drop my phone. I’m on a hunt to numb the pain of the future I almost had with Ryan. Devastation at losing my baby makes me raw, but relief floods through me that I saved my unborn baby from Ryan’s hateful wrath. I start ransacking my room looking for any pills I might have stashed away when I was with Ryan and he continually supplied me. I come up empty and wonder if my mom already purged my room of any drugs.
Rushing from my room, I head to Aunt Karen’s bathroom. Her medicine cabinet is full of stuff. But, after knocking bottles into the sink, I realize none of them are the pain-numbing kind. I consider walking down to Hollis’s house and breaking in to grab those Percocets when I remember Cal took them.
I lift my gaze to stare at the horrible person I’ve become. I’m the kind of person who would steal from her aunt or brother to make the pain go away. So selfish. My long hair taunts me. With tears and snot running down my face, I’m reminded of what Ryan said. I think of that little girl who could have been another one of his victims. It’s the only reason I have for what I do next.
I pick up the scissors lying on the counter. With the sharp tip, I twist it around one of my limp strands. At one time, I took such pride in my hair. Now, I hate it. Before I can talk myself out of it, I grab the end of a section and bring the open scissors to it. I saw through the strands, watching the blunt, uneven ends in the mirror as they bounce off my collarbone.
Cut.
Cut.
Cut.
Hair fills the sink, covering all the medicine bottles. I drop the scissors into the sink with a loud clang. It’s choppy and horrible looking, but I feel free. On shaky legs, I walk back into my room and pick up my phone. I’ve missed more of Ryan’s hot and cold messages. Rather than reading them, I turn my camera to selfie mode and snap a picture. I send it to him and then block his number.