Total pages in book: 140
Estimated words: 137433 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 687(@200wpm)___ 550(@250wpm)___ 458(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 137433 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 687(@200wpm)___ 550(@250wpm)___ 458(@300wpm)
Fresh irritation floods me. Bailey is being soooo understanding, even though she doesn’t understand jack shit. She does have a mom. A healthy one. And a dad. And a sister who isn’t an addict. Her life is perfect, while mine is a pile of calamities.
She’s a blossoming flower, and I’m dirt, but that’s okay because the thing about flowers is they’re buried in dirt, so I know exactly how to cut her off.
Shaking her off, I swivel and stomp my way out of our cul-de-sac. She races after me, calling my name. Her Mary Janes clap the ground urgently.
“Lev, please! Did I say something wrong?”
To be fair to her, she stood no chance at saying anything right. But screw being fair. I’m hurting, and she is baggage. Just another person to love and to lose.
I pick up my pace, running now. I don’t know where I’m going, but I’m eager to get there. The sky—completely blue just seconds ago—cracks like an egg. Thunder rolls, gray washes over it, and rain starts pouring in thick sheets. It’s summer in SoCal and shouldn’t rain. The universe is angry, but I’m angrier.
Whenever Bailey manages to catch the sleeve of my shirt, I speed up, but even after thirty minutes of running in the rain, soaked to the bone, she doesn’t quit. Somehow, we find ourselves in the woods on the outskirts of town. The thick, tall branches and blankets of leaves intertwine together like laced fingers above us, creating a makeshift umbrella. I can sort of see my surroundings now, and it’s pretty and it’s calm and far enough away from that stupid cemetery. I stop running when I realize I’m not gonna escape the new reality: Mom’s dead.
I finally understand the term heartbreak. Because that thing in my chest? Split open clean in two.
I turn around, my lungs scorching. Bailey is pale and sodden, her black dress clinging to her body. Her lips are blue and her skin is so pale, I see a map of purple and red veins under her flesh.
“Go home,” I growl. But I don’t want her to go home. I want her to never leave.
She steps closer, tilting her chin up defiantly. “I’m not leaving you.”
“Fuck off, Bailey!” I fold in half, screaming. I feel like she kicked me in the stomach.
She’ll leave. She’ll let you down. Don’t fall for this, Lev.
“I’m so sorry.” Her eyes are full of tears, and she flexes her fingers, itching to grab me.
Hug me.
Go away.
Fuckfuckfuck.
My mouth opens again and more bullshit spews out. “Don’t be sorry for me. Be sorry for yourself. You’re the loser who hangs out with an eighth grader instead of people your own age.”
“I wish it didn’t happen.” She ignores my insults, trying to grab my fingers again and play them like a piano, like she does every time I’m upset.
Laughing, I rasp, “I wish you didn’t happen.”
“I wish it were me who was dead.” Her face is covered with tears and pain and mud, and I can’t do this anymore. I don’t care how much I’m hurting, I can’t ruin the only good thing about my life right now. She gives me something to fight for when every cell of my body wants to give up.
“Now you’re just talking outta your ass.” I spit phlegm between us.
She shakes her head, quivering fingers darting to her hair, massaging her scalp. I believe her. And it kills me that even though I feel like someone slashed me open and my guts are pouring out, I still wouldn’t want Bailey to be in Mom’s place.
“I’m not. I’m serious. I would die before willingly watch you suffer.”
There’s a beat of silence. Then I open my mouth and the most feral, scary, loud cry I’ve ever heard tears out of it. It echoes in the sky and bounces off the trees. A flock of ravens takes flight from the treetops.
And then I go to the only place I need to be right now—I go mad.
Anger pierces through my skin. I rip through a thick curtain of cobweb, grab a young tree like it’s a neck, and crack it in half with my own two hands. Blood gushes from the creases of my palms, and a fingernail snaps clean out of my skin. It falls into the wet mud under my feet. I can’t even feel the pain.
Bailey is screaming, but I can’t hear her. I punch into oak trees, kick dirt, pull flowers from their beds, holding them like decapitated heads and tossing them into the river in a white, blind, hot rage. I destroy nests and uproot a whole-ass bench, throwing it into the river. I’m annihilating anything and everything in my path. It’s me against nature, and once—just this once—it seems like I’m winning.
At some point, I notice through the mist of rain that I’m not the only one wreaking havoc. Bailey is on a bender too. Ripping flowers, peeling chipped tree trunks, screaming into the wind. Her face is muddy, her hair crazy, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen her like this—wild and free and rabid.