Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 94457 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 472(@200wpm)___ 378(@250wpm)___ 315(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94457 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 472(@200wpm)___ 378(@250wpm)___ 315(@300wpm)
Scar looks over her shoulder at the door that’s now closed. She shakes her head and then returns her attention to me. “Mom’s really upset, and Dad, you know he’s good at masking his emotions, but even he can’t hide that he is miserable. I know they miss you, though, and they want to talk to you.”
I can feel my blood pressure rise at the mention of them wanting to talk to me. It’s not my fault that I left with so many things unsaid.
“I’m not talking to either of them, not after what they did, and all the secrets they’re keeping.” It’s hard to hide my anger from Scar, but I manage to keep my voice even and the venom out of my words.
“All they want to do is talk,” Scarlet replies.
“And I’m not ready yet,” I snap, but regret it the moment I do. Scarlet frowns, her brows pinching together like she’s been scolded. “Look, I’m sorry, Scar. I didn’t mean to snap at you, but I’m not ready yet.” My voice becomes gentler, and that eases some of the tension from Scarlet’s face.
“I understand. I just miss being normal.” I hate how depressed she sounds and that there isn’t a damn thing I can do about it.
“Things won’t ever be the way they were before, but each day they can get better.” I don’t care what happens to me or how I feel. The only thing that matters to me is that Scarlet is happy, healthy, and content with life. I won’t fail her.
A knock echoes through the phone, and she peers over her shoulder once more. “I’ve got to go, but I’ll call again soon. Behave yourself, brother.” She smiles, and then the screen goes dark, the call ending before I can say goodbye.
I toss my phone down on the mattress and lay back, staring up at the ceiling. I’m spiraling again, and every day I get closer to losing the last remaining shreds of my control. I need something to anchor me, something I can control.
No, not something, someone. The enemy. Aspen. I need to have her under my control again, at my mercy, because as sick as it is, as wrong as it is, it’s the only time I feel like my old self. The only time I feel in control of my life.
8
ASPEN
The days start to blend in this hell hole. The only reprieve is that I’ve somehow stayed off Quinton’s radar. I’ve managed to go an entire week without having a single run-in with him. Granted, I did skip PE class this morning, so I wouldn’t have to see him.
Between the fear of being caught by him and being alone and singled out everywhere I go, I’m a mess. Even the teachers seem to dislike me. I’m trapped in this place with nowhere else to go. Not to mention, I haven’t been able to reach my mom. Every time I try to Skype her, she’s busy. All I want to do is vent to her about this place, not that she would care. She advocated the most for me to go here.
I shelve the pity party I’m setting up in my mind for later and gather up all my clothes in the laundry bag provided to me when I arrived. I have to go down to the lower level to drop my laundry off for cleaning. Apparently, the students here are too high class to operate a washer and dryer. I scoff at the nonsense and heft the bag over my shoulder.
Yeah, most of us grew up wealthy, but this is still a university. People should at least know how to do their own laundry.
My only clean clothes are what I’m wearing—a pair of sweats, a T-shirt, and an oversized sweatshirt. I’ve pushed off going downstairs to do laundry for so long that I literally have nothing else to wear. I generally procrastinate doing anything that means me walking through the dorms or anywhere else, for that matter.
I actually played with the idea of no longer attending classes altogether, thinking if I fail, they’ll surely send me back home. But what then? We lost most of our money when my dad was convicted. The only assets we got to keep were the house and my trust fund. I don’t even know how much this place costs to attend, but I doubt they will refund my tuition.
Wanting to get this over with quickly, I speed walk down the hall, hoping to pass people before they even realize it’s me. I succeed most of the way. Only a few shoulder bumps, insults, and dirty looks are hurled at me as I make my way downstairs.
Luckily, there is no line when I walk up to the desk. The maid who takes the laundry looks up from the book in her hand with a smile. That smile is immediately wiped off her face when she recognizes who I am.