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)
“Fuck! Okay, I’ll call her parents.” Lucas nods, his face suddenly pale. “Keep me updated.”
He leaves, and the doc sits down by Aspen’s bed, taking her hand into hers and simply holding it.
“Come on,” she whispers. “You need to fight. You are too young to die.”
The words slowly sink in. Aspen could… she could actually die…
I’m no stranger to death by any means, but this feels different. Most people think, me being who I am, I must have killed people before. But the truth is, I haven’t. I’ve seen people die. I’ve beaten people up, tortured them for information, but I’ve never actually killed someone.
If Aspen dies, it will be partly my fault. I knew she hadn’t been eating or at least not well. I watched her leave the cafeteria empty-handed. I saw how skinny she was, but instead of offering her food, I held on to that information as a bargaining chip.
If she dies today, her blood will be on my hands.
18
ASPEN
I blink my eyes open and wish I hadn’t the instant I do. Bright yellow lights shine from above. The world around me spins, making my stomach churn. Dear Lord, do not let me throw up again. A groan slips past my dry lips as I roll to my side only to realize that I’m on a bed, well, a cot, and no longer in my dorm room.
Disoriented, I force myself to sit up a little faster than necessary and almost tip over.
“Slow down. You’re going to make yourself sick.” A voice carries into my ears, and I swing my head in the direction of the voice, only to discover a young woman and Quinton in the small room that is definitely not my dorm.
“Where am I?” The last thing I remember is being so hot it felt like my skin was on fire. Now I don’t feel nearly as hot, but my thoughts are sluggish, making it hard for me to piece the puzzle together.
“How do you feel?” The young woman steps closer, her eyes examining my face.
“Dead,” I joke. Then I add, “Like I got hit by a truck.”
The woman nods but doesn’t reply. I peer over at Quinton as I can feel his eyes on me. The way he’s looking at me—like I died and came back to life—makes my skin crawl. I do not want to be the center of his attention, not now or ever.
The nurse busies herself checking my heartbeat and temperature, then asking me to follow her pen with my eyes. I do as she asks, and when she hands me a paper cup with water in it, I swallow it down, letting the cool liquid coat my throat.
“Now can you tell me what happened, and where I am?” I ask once she takes a step back and seems to be happy with her findings.
“You’re in the school emergency room, and I’m sure I don’t have to tell you this, but you have a lot of explaining to do.”
My brows furrow in confusion, and I look at Quinton, whose face is still and void of all emotions, giving nothing away.
“I don’t understand. I don’t know how I got here or what you’re talking about.” My head is pounding. I’m confused, and all I want to do is fall back asleep.
“He brought you here.” The nurse or doctor, whoever she is, hooks her thumb in the direction of Quinton. He must’ve taken a trip to my room only to find me half-dead on the ground, ruining whatever plan of damnation he had for me.
“Now explain to me why you haven’t been eating?”
“Eating?” I almost mock.
“Yes, eating. Your blood tests revealed that you’re malnourished, have very low iron and multiple vitamin deficiencies, and most likely a bad case of food poisoning. You should be grateful that you didn’t shrivel up and die.”
Well, that explains a lot of things. I lift my hand and notice the IV in my arm, clear liquids pump into my body, and the significance of the situation starts to weigh heavily on my shoulders. Why you haven’t been eating? Her question repeats back in my mind, and I can feel her gaze narrowing further, burning into my skin.
She’s waiting for an answer, and I’m almost ashamed to tell her… almost.
“None of this is my fault. The cafeteria staff won’t give me any food, and—” Quinton interjects before I can continue.
“She has an eating disorder. She’s just lying to cover it up. She’s super ashamed of it and doesn’t want to admit she has a problem.”
In an instant, I’m red hot with anger. I don’t have a fucking eating disorder, and I tell him this with a glare. He returns the glare, his jaw clenched, his icy gaze burning into my eyes.
The woman’s gaze ping-pongs between us, and I have to wonder if she will really believe him. I swear to God if she agrees with him…