Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 111768 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 559(@200wpm)___ 447(@250wpm)___ 373(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 111768 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 559(@200wpm)___ 447(@250wpm)___ 373(@300wpm)
"Cut the bullshit, Lorenzo."
"Look, all I'm saying is I stopped your wife from being truly harmed. You're welcome for that, by the way."
I don't thank him.
I don't know if I believe it.
It feels too convenient.
I look around the room, my eyes skimming over the man on the floor. He's moaning, still moving around.
"He's still alive," Lorenzo points out.
"For now," I say. "What happens to him depends on if you plan to help him out."
"Oh, I'll help him out, don't you worry about that."
I glance at Lorenzo.
He takes another swig of the liquor, staring at the man on the floor. "When was the last time you actually killed someone, Ignazio?"
It's a question I don't want to answer.
It's one I really don't have to think about.
The last life I ended was Raymond Angelo's.
Everyone since then, I've left alive.
I hesitate so long he knows I'm not going to answer, but that, I suppose, is answer enough for him. "That long ago, huh?"
"It doesn't matter," I tell him. "Whether it was a year ago or an hour ago, it doesn't make a difference. There's so much blood on my hands they'll never get clean."
"It doesn't matter, but yet you're trying."
"For her."
"Well, don't worry," he says, motioning toward the writhing man on the floor. "I'll make sure he's taken care of, so the last blood on your hands won't be today."
I don't know if he expects me to thank him, but I don't. I don't say anything.
I just slip right out the back door.
Heading around the house, I go toward my car in the neighbor's driveway, when I hear it. I hear the lone gunshot from the back of the house.
BANG
Sometimes, when I can't sleep, I just lay in bed and wonder.
I wonder what my life would be like if Naz hadn't happened.
If I hadn't walked into that philosophy classroom, maybe nobody would've ever noticed me. Maybe I would've continued on, undetected, building a life for myself right under their noses, living out my days oblivious and happy. Maybe I would've never known the truth of my parentage, and I could've existed in an eternal ignorant bliss. Maybe I'd be an art major, or maybe even do something in science. Maybe I'd still be living in this very room with Melody. Maybe I'd forever be eating ramen noodles while fielding a dozen messages from my mom every afternoon.
Maybe she'd still be alive.
Maybe.
Maybe.
Maybe.
I imagine myself having another life, in another place, surrounded by other people... people I haven't met yet, people maybe I'll never actually meet. And so much feels right about it, so much feels freeing, but there's always this pang in my stomach, a tightening in my chest, like there's a big, gaping void that's growing and growing.
Something's missing.
Him.
When I think about a life without Naz, I start to feel lonely. It's like I'm standing in a crowded room, screaming, but nobody is even listening. That day, outside of the classroom, when he handed me my phone, was probably the first time in my life I felt like someone truly noticed. That someone paid attention. I like to think he heard me screaming, even if, at the time, it was for the wrong reasons.
And as I lay on the dirty floor in Melody's dorm room, a room that holds so many memories, I'm doing it again… I'm imagining a life without him.
A world where he doesn't exist.
It's dark. I don't know what time it is. I don't have it in me to look. I feel like I've been here forever, each tick of the clock taunting me. I'm silently screaming and tonight, nobody's listening, nobody's hearing me, nobody's coming to save me from this heartache.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
The longer he's gone, the greater the chance he's never coming back. He promised he would, but he's not indestructible. He's human. He's flawed. He has a heart that beats in his chest, just like me. All it would take is a twist of a knife to rip it apart. I know. I know.
I feel it.
The void.
The part of me that's missing.
I feel it.
Tears fill my eyes as bile burns my throat, forced up by the expanding mass in my chest, the vicious darkness that's eating away at me. "Oh God," I whisper, shoving myself up, my vision blurring from a sudden rush of dizziness. "I'm going to be sick."
I run to the bathroom, tripping over shit in the darkness, grateful to find it empty. Collapsing to the floor, I start gagging, but nothing's coming out. There's nothing left in me to give.
Please.
Please come back to me.
I need you.
The light flicks on, harsh and blinding, and I squeeze my eyes shut tightly as I continue pleading.
Please.
"Karissa?" Melody's voice is hesitant as she steps into the connected bathroom. "Are you okay?"
Am I okay? No. I'm not okay at all.
Words have been scarce from her since I showed up an hour… a day… a year ago. I don't know. I told her what happened to me, the Cliff Notes version, leaving out the parts having to do with Leo, but spilling secrets that even Naz doesn't yet know.
Naz.
Oh God… Naz.
What if he never knows?
The shock of it all rendered her speechless, and if I hadn't felt lonely enough before, now I certainly do. Nobody understands. Nobody hears me. Melody tried to listen, tried to rationalize what was going on, but no amount of 'everything happens for a reason' will ever be enough to keep me calm.
Instead of answering, I squeeze my eyes shut tighter, trying to imagine another world again. A world where we're happy, where we're together, where we're away from all of this.
A world without a target on our backs.
A world where Naz comes home.
A world where we can live in peace.
A world that's just ours.
"It'll be okay," Melody says, switching her course of action. "He's Ignazio, you know? He's, like… he's just him. He'll be all right."
I really want to believe that's true.
But sometimes, people don't come back.
And Melody knows that.
She knows that more than a lot of people.
And she's trying to be positive, being the best friend she can possibly be, but I can hear the apprehension in her voice. I can sense the shred of fear. This is heavy, way too heavy for such a naturally cheery girl. But it's always a possibility, every time somebody leaves, that it might be the last time you ever see them. It might be the last time they grace your world.