Total pages in book: 119
Estimated words: 113837 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 569(@200wpm)___ 455(@250wpm)___ 379(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 113837 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 569(@200wpm)___ 455(@250wpm)___ 379(@300wpm)
“You’re a disrespectful little shit.” He took a swing, and I ducked. His fist went clean through the cabinet behind me.
On instinct, I charged at him.
“Little shit.” He grabbed the collar of my shirt, then his forehead smashed mine before I wrestled him to the floor. I managed to get a good punch to his nose, then the temple, and he let me go.
“You’re a piece of shit!” I swiped my keys from the table, grabbed Scooter, and stormed outside. The sound of things crashing and shattering inside followed me to the front yard. I hated him. And more often than not, I found myself wishing he would die. Mom would never leave him, and she deserved so much better than this shit. We all did.
I loaded Scooter into the back of my car and peeled out of the drive, heading to the bus stop a few blocks over to wait on my little brother. The fight with my dad replayed through my head, creating a river of slow rage that needed to be diverted. I flipped through radio stations. Scrolled through my phone. Then finally, I typed out a text to Drew.
Me: Next on the list you have fighting or fucking
Minutes passed and no dancing dots. Curiosity got the better of me, and I pulled up that stupid app on my phone, waiting for the blue locator dot to pop up. God—I shook my head because I had issues. I really did. I’d put the thing on here to screw with her, and here I was, practically stalking her to satisfy my own morbid curiosity. It shouldn’t have mattered that she was at the same house she was the other day. Shouldn’t have, but damn, if it didn’t.
The yellow bus chugged down the street then rolled to a stop, and when the doors folded back, Scooter howled when Arlo hopped down the steps. A wide grin set on his face as he sprinted over, then yanked open the door.
“You brought Scooter!” He chucked his backpack to the floorboard, then piled in, immediately wrapping his arms around the dog’s neck. It was easy to make that kid happy. I scrubbed my brother’s head, making it more of a mess than it already was.
“Daddy’s mad again, huh?”
“Yeah.” I shifted into drive, heading the opposite direction of our house. “Wanna slushie?”
“Yeah!”
Arlo mixed all three flavors together, grinning up at me when the sludge overfilled the lid. “I’mma call this one monster puke.”
“Good name.”
He started down the aisle, then turned and handed the drink to me. “Can I have a quarter for the claw machine?”
“You know that thing never works.”
“Please…”
The kid had some good begging eyes. “Fine.” I fished spare change from my pocket and dropped it into his dirt and marker-covered palm. “And wait up there for me. I’ve gotta get something.”
“K.” He skipped up to the front, and I hooked it around to the toiletries section, looking for a cheap bottle of jerk-lotion. I’d planned to spend the afternoon with Drew’s legs pushed back behind her ears while I fucked every bit of hate right out of her, but here I was. In the 7-11. And seeing as how no other girl would cut it now, this was my only choice.
I settled on some cheap off-brand and made my way to the register. Arlo stood by the claw machine, his face plastered to the 7-11 window. A stuffed unicorn peeked out from under one of his arms, and a plastic bag hung from the other.
The kid had a habit of shoplifting things from time to time, even though I’d threatened to take his night-light away if he kept doing it. “Arlo,” I said. “Where’d you get the bag?”
“That lady bought me some Rainbow Push-Pops.” He pointed through the glass just as Drew climbed into the passenger seat of a bright-red Mercedes. “And she won me the horse with a sword on its head.”
“Why?”
“She said she knew you. So, she’s not a stranger, right?”
I placed a hand over his head, watching the car back out of the spot. “Not a stranger…”
Something tightened in my chest, and I knew exactly why serial killers didn’t want to get to know their victims before they killed them. Because when someone became real, it made everything harder. And that had just made her entirely too real for me to keep hating her.
* * *
Arlo sat on Hendrix’s couch, battling him on the PlayStation. “Bell, your brother’s a cheater!”
“Am not.”
“Are too. Cheater, cheater pumpkin eater.”
“You’re an asshole.”
Hendrix cackled. “Yes! I love it when kids swear.”
Wolf shook his head. Lighting a joint as he took the seat across from me at the kitchen table. “You did hear she only got suspension?”
“Yeah.”
“Which is bullshit!” Hendrix shouted from the other room.
I hadn’t told the guys about my deal with Drew—only because I didn’t want to listen to their crap. And had I told Hendrix that Drew was the one who suggested he set fire to her car, he wouldn’t have, on principle.