Total pages in book: 144
Estimated words: 143453 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 717(@200wpm)___ 574(@250wpm)___ 478(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 143453 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 717(@200wpm)___ 574(@250wpm)___ 478(@300wpm)
Everywhere.
Now they’re nowhere. Only a cold chill rips through my body, hooking against what remains of my soul to freeze it to death.
Instead of focusing on that and driving myself crazy, I grab my phone and open Instagram. During the first week home, I actually deleted all my social media apps.
The pain was too raw, so much so that not even my obsession with biographing my life could’ve lessened the blow.
But then I became greedy for any sliver of an update about him.
Remi texted me back and forth, though secretly, as he told me. He’s the only one I offered excuses to. The only one who knows I couldn’t just let my brother die and that pulling that trigger killed me inside.
He still hated me at the beginning for hurting his cousin, but I think he soon forgot about it.
Though we don’t really talk about Creighton anymore. It feels weird to ask about him, knowing full well he and his entire entourage hate me.
I expected him to come after me for shooting him. Hell, reporting me to the police would be his perfect revenge against my family. Sure, Papa wouldn’t allow anyone to arrest me, but that was a valid option he could’ve gone for.
So imagine my surprise when Remi said that Creighton told the police it was an anonymous man who robbed and shot him.
I couldn’t stop crying that night. Half because he actually protected me after I nearly killed him. Half because of the reality that he wants nothing to do with me anymore.
That we’re really over.
Sometimes, I think it’s for the best. Oftentimes, I get stuck in a loop of my own making and can’t find a way out.
The first picture that appears on my feed is of Remi shoulder-hugging a blank-faced Creighton.
Cousin, best friend, spawn, you name it. This cheeky bastard is stuck with me for life.
My fingers tremble as I zoom in on Creighton. He looks good—his face is eternally beautiful, silently dashing. His eyes remain unfazed though a little lifeless, and strands of his now longer hair kiss his forehead.
Sometimes, I can’t believe he’s recuperated and is doing well. I can’t believe that life has found its way back to his face, wiping away the paleness.
Sometimes, I recall that version of him I saw in the hospital or all the red that he drowned in and I choke on my own breaths.
But he’s safe now.
All safe.
That’s the only thing I wished for from the beginning, so why can’t I simply let go?
Why am I thirsting after the tiniest update or the smallest glimpse of him?
I’m supposed to be moving on by now. Time should’ve made me forget as Papa said, so why is the exact opposite happening?
There are no answers to my questions no matter how much I ask them. In fact, they become more complicated the more I do.
I click on Remi’s profile and scroll through the other posts.
Creighton recently went back to school, as in, about a week ago, and Remi has been posting a selfie with him or catching him in the background daily.
I tap on a group picture and then go to Eli’s profile through it.
He unfollowed me and removed me as a follower, but at least he didn’t block me.
A jolt goes through me when I see the last picture he posted. Both Eli and Creighton stand half naked, the planes of their chests glistening with moisture and their hair damp.
A bandage covers a part of Creighton’s chest, where the bullet went in, and it takes everything in me not to choke on my sob.
Sauna day, sponsored by yours truly since I heard it’s good for recuperation. Welcome back, baby bro #BrothersTime #SleepingBeautyChroniclesResumingSoon
I take a screenshot of the picture, crop Eli out, and add it to the collection I’ve been keeping on my phone.
Then I fall asleep staring at them with tears in my eyes.
The next day, I’m ready to volunteer at the shelter.
“You don’t have to go all the time, Anni,” Mom tells me when we’re stepping out of the house.
“I don’t mind.” I check my bag and make sure my phone is in there.
She clutches me by the shoulder and kind of forces me to stare up at her. “Do you need anything?”
“Nope, I’m cool.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah.”
“All right. How about we have girls’ night later and then I’ll sleep beside you?”
Mom hugged me to sleep the first few nights after I came home. She didn’t tell me this, but she I figured she was scared shitless that I would do something to hurt myself.
Not going to lie, I did have those thoughts, especially after I kept having nightmares about all the red that surrounded Creighton. But that edge lessened as I received more updates about how well he was doing.
“Please don’t or Papa will hate me for daring to take his place.”