Total pages in book: 125
Estimated words: 119152 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 596(@200wpm)___ 477(@250wpm)___ 397(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 119152 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 596(@200wpm)___ 477(@250wpm)___ 397(@300wpm)
“Yeah, and then basically accused me of being a cheater.”
“Yeah? Not what came out of my mouth. Why are you getting all upset? I wouldn’t mess anything up if you were—”
“He cheated on me. He did. Not me. I’m not a cheater.” That came out too harsh. A confession I never wanted to reveal. “Shit,” I hiss and grab for my jeans.
“Hey.” He reaches for me, but I slap his hand away.
“Fun’s over. Time to go.” I can’t even look at him.
“Babe, I’m not leaving.”
“Yes, you are.” He reaches for me, but I back up. “Whatever this is, it’s not going to turn into what you think it is. I’m not—I can’t right now. I have a lot of shit going on, and being with someone is not. . . Just get out.”
“Mak, I’m not leaving—”
“Get out!” It takes me yelling at the top of my lungs for him to finally stand down. I know it’s not without a fight because his brows are furrowed, and his jaw looks ready to snap. He opens his mouth, about to say something, then decides against it. Without another word, he shoves his legs into his jeans and barely has his shirt over his head before turning and storming out my front door.
I hate Chris for making me this way.
I hate Ben for wanting something from me I can’t give.
Chapter 17
Makayla
My hips sway back and forth to the music blaring out of my earbuds as I scrub the dishes. I sing every lyric since I’m obsessed with this band. I almost fainted when Hannah invited me to the concert tomorrow night. Never in a million years did I think I’d get the opportunity to see them live.
What am I even going to wear? Hannah said I can borrow something of hers. I don’t want to wear any of the worn clothes I have, and anything fancier, Daddy will suspect something and stop me from going.
I’m hoping her brother lets us get close to the—
The music suddenly stops as my hair is pulled back. The earbuds fall out of my ears. I shriek out at the throbbing radiating from my head.
“I’ve been calling you for five damn minutes.”
I try to slap at his hands. Tears prick my eyes at the pain. “Daddy, you’re hurting me.”
“Good. Teach you to listen.” He tugs my ponytail back and shoves me. I fall sideways, my ankle twisting the wrong way. I cry out as I hit the floor, and my elbow smacks against the vinyl tile. “When I call you, you come. Think this is a house for freeloaders? You can get the fuck out if that’s the case. Nothing’s free, girl. Now, get me a beer,” he says, then walks out of the kitchen.
I stir awake, not that I got any sleep. My dreams are trying to push me over the edge. But they’re not just dreams. They’re my past haunting me.
I spent half my adolescent life staring up at that band’s poster, daydreaming about the day I would meet them. In every dream, the lead singer would whisk me away to a better life.
I never made it to that show. My ankle was severely swollen, if not sprained. My father refused to take me to the hospital. He was smart enough to know they’d ask too many questions. I called Hannah and told her I came down with some bug. Stayed home from school for three days, nursing it myself until I could walk on it again.
I throw my legs over the side of the bed and get up. I bury my head in my hands, embarrassed at the way I acted last night. Every girl begs for a guy who’s against cheating. When I have one who actually is, I get all heated because he thinks I’m cheating and kick him out! Point for him being honorable. Point deduction for me for being an irrational spaz. I should have been happy at his reaction. But nope. . . definitely not how it played out. I sigh. You suck, Makayla. No wonder he looked like he wanted to throttle me when he left. He should have. And I should have let him. One thing’s for certain, I need to tuck my tail between my legs and apologize. I was honest when I said I can’t do this with him. I’m not in the right headspace. That was made clear last night. Between the divorce and my dad, I should be researching loony bins, not ways to amp up my sex life.
Being home is doing crazy things to me. It’s causing memories I’ve fought so hard to bury to resurface. I feel like I’m juggling my childhood issues with my father, my past, and my current issues with Ben. The problem is, I suck at juggling. It’s only a matter of time before my life starts falling apart. As if it’s not already. . . “No need to rub it in,” I gripe to myself.