Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 65552 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 328(@200wpm)___ 262(@250wpm)___ 219(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 65552 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 328(@200wpm)___ 262(@250wpm)___ 219(@300wpm)
Do I want to kill myself? I don’t know. What I do know is I’ll do anything for five seconds of silence. Watching as the blood drips slowly down my leg, I feel satisfied. My vision becomes blurry, and my skin burns where the blade sliced through it, but it doesn’t hurt. I think it should hurt, though all I feel is sated. Still, I need more.
Moving the blade a little lower, I cut myself again, sliding the blade across my skin. More burning, more euphoria… more silence.
Nothing can touch me when I’m inside my bubble. Not the memories. Not Jackson. Not the past. My emotions don’t exist here. All I can feel is right now. Closed off from the world, there is nothing else that can reach me.
Inside here, I’m free, the pain I inflict on myself absorbs everything around me, making it possible to hold on for one more day.
One more day.
One more cut.
3
Jackson
We all have our vices. Before my sister died, I was focused on my grades, on my future. I was a good kid. I didn’t drink or fight. I didn’t even smoke weed.
I had sex, but nothing like I do now. Using my body as a weapon, screwing any chick that bats her eyes at me. I used to be focused on being the perfect son and brother. Now, I focus on nothing but momentary pleasure. Anything that gets me through the day.
When Jillian died, a piece of me died with her. It broke off, shattered. My heart became a black hole for anger and pain. Now that she’s here, I’m reminded of that loss and the pain. My anger is amplified.
“You sure you want to do this tonight?” Talon interrupts my thoughts. I met him during freshman orientation at Blackthorn. I wasn’t trying to make friends, but the fuckface wouldn’t leave me alone, and so here we are now.
Glaring at him, I continue stretching. “We’re doing this, either that or I can pick some random prick off the street and beat the shit out of him.”
Talon shrugs. “I guess. You know they have classes to deal with this shit, right?”
“What shit?” I pretend as if I have no idea what he’s talking about.
Talon doesn’t know me. He thinks he does because we fuck the same girls and have drinks together, but he doesn’t really know me. He doesn’t know the feelings I harbor, my past, the loss I’ve endured. He thinks I have an anger problem, and he’s not wrong. I do.
But if he knew why I’m angry, if he knew what happened, then he would understand better. Problem is, I don’t give a fuck about making him understand better.
“Why you always play stupid?” He grins at me.
Arching a brow, I reply, “Why you always ask stupid questions?”
Talon doesn’t respond and just shakes his head at me. It’s for the best, I tell myself. I’m not here for friends. In fact, I wouldn’t be here at all if my mother hadn’t guilted me into it.
Every Saturday night just outside of Blackthorn, at an abandoned warehouse, there is a fight. It’s called the pits and for good reason, because two fuckers enter the “pit” and clobber the shit out of each other. At the end, there is only one winner. Most of the time, it’s me, sometimes, it’s some other fucker. I don’t really care who wins, because at the end of the day I get my aggression out either way.
I guess you could say it’s my personal version of anger management. Tonight there’s only a small crowd. I look over to Franco, the guy who puts these things on, while I continue stretching, cracking each knuckle on my hand, as well as my neck.
The smell of sweat and smoke clings to the air. My muscles tighten at the mere thought of pulverizing one of these assholes’ faces.
“You know the rules, fuckers. Tap out or knock out. Winner takes all the cash. We got a small crowd, but you better make it worth it for them tonight,” Franco scolds as if we’re elementary students who can’t listen or comprehend basic rules.
Blocking him out, I scan the crowd, the girls are licking their lips, and batting their eyes as they look me and the other fighters up and down. We aren’t seen as regular frat boys here. We’re seen as sexed-up warriors, and these ladies want to take a bite out of us.
“Into the pit, you two,” Franco orders, and I hop down into the makeshift ring, landing on the balls of my feet. I’ve ditched my shirt and am wearing a pair of low hanging shorts and tennis shoes. Sweat dribbles down my back and chest, my muscles tingle, and I lift my gaze, making eye contact with the guy across from me.
I’m going to fuck up his face tonight.