Total pages in book: 155
Estimated words: 145634 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 728(@200wpm)___ 583(@250wpm)___ 485(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 145634 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 728(@200wpm)___ 583(@250wpm)___ 485(@300wpm)
I’m supposed to be down the east hall for gym, but I like walking her here to the north hall for her algebra class. It’s a little more time to hold her, to hear her babble about whatever’s on her mind. I don’t have to say shit; just being with her is enough to make her happy. And that alone makes me happy.
“I love you,” she tells me, gripping onto my one hand with both of hers.
I haven’t told her how I feel since that night, our first night.
I almost tell her I love her out of pure instinct, but it’s hard to say the words. They lose their meaning when you say it too much. If my parents’ split taught me anything, it’s just that. I won’t waste them in between classes and throw them around so easily. I’ll show her how I feel, that matters more anyway.
“You make me so happy,” I tell her and then feel like a dick. It’s the truth, but she wants more.
“Please,” she says and looks at me with a pleading expression in her eyes and I let out a sigh. “I just want to hear it,” she tells me. I hate the hurt look on her face.
I give her a smile, the one she wants and bend down close to her ear, brushing her hair away and whisper, “I love you.”
It makes her smile and then she gives me a quick peck on the cheek before running into her class. That’s enough to keep the trace of happiness on my face, but it’s not what I feel deep inside.
It’s like I’m pretending to be someone else when I’m with her.
The bell rings as the thought hits me, and I turn to find myself alone in the hallway and late for class.
This version of me is someone I want to be. Someone not afraid to tell her what she wants to hear. They’re just words anyway.
But it’s not who I really am.
“Finally,” I hear Mark before I see him, turning around with the article still in my hand. My heart races as if he’d caught me back then, lying to myself and to her and trying to be someone I wasn’t.
“We have to talk,” Mark says, shutting the door and I take the moment to release a breath I didn’t know I was holding and toss the article onto the desk.
“Have a seat,” Mark says and it catches me off guard. That sickness comes back to me as I pull out the chair from the vanity and he takes a seat opposite, dragging the chair for the desk over to me and quickly sitting down.
With his elbows on his knees and his fingers laced together, his thumbs tap against one another as he talks. It’s a nervous habit I’ve noticed he has.
“So, Harlow May,” he says, keeping his eyes on me and then swallowing.
“Just spit it out, Mark,” I tell him as I sit back casually, ignoring how my heart’s rhythm is fucked and every muscle in me wants to move. I stay perfectly still, expressionless. Giving him nothing and waiting for him to show his cards.
He can’t know the truth. No one else knows.
Unless she told someone and that’s why she’s gone. I choke on the thought, unable to breathe or move as my blood runs cold. She wouldn’t do that. I know my Hally; she wouldn’t. She can’t. It would ruin us both.
“So, you’re seeing her now?” he asks me and I hold his gaze, willing my body to do something. Letting myself entertain the idea that this line of questioning must mean she hasn’t told a soul.
I scratch a nonexistent itch at my jaw, stalling for time and debating on an answer. “We’re potentially rekindling an old relationship.” I keep it vague. I trust Mark, I do. But only so much.
“This relationship is causing a lot of questions,” Mark says and then visibly swallows. He’s antsy, fidgety.
“Like what?” I ask him without bothering to hide the irritation in my tone.
“Like why is she scared to talk about it?” he says low, his eyes darting between the floor beneath his feet and then back up to me.
I don’t answer him for a long moment and the tense air becomes suffocating. “It was one interview,” I tell him, like it’s annoying. Like there’s no truth to the perception that she’s afraid.
“I didn’t do anything to her,” I add and then look away, toward the door wanting to escape. It’s a lie. I didn’t help her; I left her, I ruined the beautiful spirit she had.
I knew better than to be with her back then, but it’s different now. Isn’t it?
“I wasn’t implying anything, Nate,” Mark says, raising both of his hands and with a look in his eyes that begs me to believe him. “It just looks bad.”