Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 80699 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 403(@200wpm)___ 323(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80699 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 403(@200wpm)___ 323(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
My heart is pounding, blood rushing through my veins. I look down at her half-lidded eyes.
“Just let me die,” she whispers before her body goes limp in my trembling arms.
Chapter 3
Khloe
I don’t know exactly where I am when I wake up, but without opening my eyes, I know where I’m not. I feel a tear roll down my cheek at the realization. I’ve been a failure all my life. Why should my suicide be any different?
I continue to let the tears squeeze past my closed eyelids. I should be dead. That was the choice I made. I was willing to deal with the consequence. I’m not a religious person, but I know the Bible sees suicide as a mortal sin, casting me straight into Hell. Fire and brimstone don't seem as bad as facing the world without Alec. Eternal damnation would at least get me out of the shithole that is Farmington, New Mexico.
Regaining more of my senses, I’m certain I’m in a hospital. I can smell disinfectant, the mattress I’m laying on feels like a board, and the fabric against my skin is harsh and scratchy.
I can tell by the static in the air that someone is in the room with me, even though I’ve not heard a sound other than the rumble of distant traffic. I don’t want to open my eyes. I don’t want to look in the face of another person disappointed in me, or worse the disdain I’ve seen on too many faces in my life to count.
“Hey,” I hear a gruff, unfamiliar voice say just before I feel fingers on my cheek sweeping hair away. “You awake?” he continues.
I swallow roughly, wincing at the incredible soreness in my throat. I feel as if I’ve ingested a bucket of glass.
“Where am I?” Even to my own ears I sound like a three pack a day smoker. I try to reach my hand up to clasp my throat, but a hand stops me.
“Open your eyes,” the man insists.
Why I obey, when all I want to do is crawl inside of myself, I’ll never know. Heavy eyelids keep me from opening them all the way, but I find myself staring into deep, dark brown eyes.
“Take a drink,” he says, and I see him holding a small, plastic cup near my mouth. I take a sip, never taking my eyes off of him. The cool water soothes my injured throat for the seconds I’m drinking, but then the pain returns.
I’ve never seen this man before, but somehow his beard, strong brow, and mesmerizing eyes give me a sense of familiarity.
“More?” he asks softly placing the straw near my lips again.
I drink, not wanting to refuse his kindness.
A throat clearing from the other side of the room draws both of our attention. He stands from his crouched position near my head and stiffens. A quick glance at the door heats my blood near to the boiling point.
I look back at him and for the first time notice the leather cut he’s wearing. A biker. I remember seeing lots of guys wearing them at the memorial. I close my eyes, suddenly recalling where I was before I ended up here. I sat alone in the park watching Alec’s parents from a distance, internalizing their hate as I downed pill after pill.
The leather-clad stranger begins to walk away, and I grasp for him. He pats the top of my hand and winks at me before pulling away and stepping out of the room.
“Well that didn’t take long,” my foster dad says coming closer to the bed. “Straight from the faggot to the criminal I see.”
I look over at my foster mom, hoping she’ll say something. I know she won’t. Warren Stevens is as mean as a damn snake, and it’s clear his wife, Joan, learned not to cross him some time ago. She’s by no means nice, but she would never say such a hurtful thing, well, not in public at least.
I cut my eyes back to Warren. “What are you doing here?” I don’t even try to hide the hate in my voice. Three years I’ve been forced to live with these people. Three years I’ve never felt more alone, even around a houseful of people.
“What did you expect? You think the hospital is just going to release some kid after they had to pump her stomach?”
I reach my hand up to my throat, realizing now why it hurt so much.
“I’ll be eighteen in a month,” I sneer at him.
“Don’t I know it! But you sure as shit ain’t eighteen now.”
I turn my face away from them, unable to look at them any longer. This wasn’t how things were supposed to be. I was supposed to be dead. I didn’t swallow a bottle of pills for attention; that’s the last thing in this world that I want. I’ve always done my best to stay under the radar.