Total pages in book: 126
Estimated words: 118579 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 593(@200wpm)___ 474(@250wpm)___ 395(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 118579 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 593(@200wpm)___ 474(@250wpm)___ 395(@300wpm)
Was my health taking a wrong turn? Riding the road to lung complications, taking a curve in the direction of disability? I definitely didn’t feel like I held the power over my body. That scared me, even more than the idea of death.
When Mama released me to sit on the bed with my back against the pillows, my eyes darkened. I no longer tried to pacify them. It was time for them to pacify me.
“Can we get you anything, Rosie-bug? Maybe chocolate?” Mama’s contrived smile felt like an insult. It was painful to see her try so hard. No wonder they begged me to move back to Todos Santos. It took me exactly four short months to let myself deteriorate since Dean and I happened and find myself pounding on locked doors in the middle of the pouring rain, waiting on Ruckus to open up his heart.
Stupid girl. The words floated in my mind, just like they did all those months ago, after we had sex for the first time. Stupid, stupid, stupid.
“I’m good, thanks,” I said, just as Vicious swaggered into the room. The fact that he was there in the first place took me by surprise. My health really was in the shitter if Vicious dropped by to say goodbye. He tucked his phone into his dress pants and leaned down, kissing Millie on the forehead. My heart squeezed.
“Dr. Hasting is on her way. She’s cutting her vacation short,” he said to no one in particular, but we all mumbled our thanks. I thought she was out of town on a family emergency, but maybe the emergency was taking a break from people like me.
Vicious looked up and asked, “How are you doing, Rose?”
“I’ll live.” I laughed bitterly. “I mean, you know. Or not.”
“Dean’s MIA,” he admitted, raising one eyebrow and looking at Emilia, as if asking for her permission to continue. She gave him a faint nod.
“You can tell me. I’m a big girl.”
Even if I don’t look like one. Even if I didn’t act like one by recklessly standing in the rain waiting on Dean.
Vicious rubbed the back of his neck and blew out air. “No one’s heard from him since Friday morning. So, a little over twenty-four hours.”
Good. I hoped he was dead.
No. No, I did not.
Worry gnawed at my gut. What happened with his father? What happened with Nina? Why did he slip under the radar, and at what point was I going to shake myself off of the loyalty I had for him and focus on myself?
“No one cares about Dean.” Millie bared her teeth, standing up and holding the back of her chair. “And if he shows up here, I will give him a piece of my mind.”
“Dude.” I coughed, and everyone stopped and looked at me, waiting for me to finish. My whole face reddened before I managed to stop the flow of dry barks. “Make sure he’s okay first. Find out that he is healthy, and then give him a piece of your mind.”
“And if he wants to see you?” she asked.
“If he comes here walking, no, thank you. On a stretcher? Yes, please.”
“Glad you still have your sense of humor.” Her nostrils flared. “Now quit joking around and get some rest.”
She didn’t need to ask me twice. Ten minutes later, I was fast asleep again, tucked securely in the arms of unconsciousness and painkillers. And even though the voices around me were muffled and the light in the room didn’t keep me up, the sound of my life slipping away played in the background as my lungs fought for air.
Phhhhhhhsssttttt. Phhhhssssssttttt. Phhhhhssssssttttt.
WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT smell?
It took me about a minute from the moment I recognized that I was lying somewhere on my stomach, in a room I didn’t know, till I managed to open my eyes. Shit, they were heavier than carrying Trent on my back, which I actually did once when he got injured in high school. That wasn’t the time to dwell on that story, though.
Where was I? I looked around. There was a white nightstand to my right, the sheets were pink, and the room looked clean and smelled of flowers…
Holy shit, no.
I got up too fast, stumbling over a pile of dresses and righting myself on a white and pink nightstand. I knocked off a row of beauty products, then heard dishes clanking outside the room. I didn’t have my shoes on, but my pants and shirt were intact—thank God—and it took me exactly three seconds to stand in this woman’s hallway—her apartment was the size of my pantry—and try not to throw up my last meal on her floor.
The room spun, my head was pounding, and I was pretty sure there was an infinite hole in my stomach waiting to be filled with soft bread so it could soak up some of the alcohol I consumed yesterday.