Total pages in book: 157
Estimated words: 150968 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 755(@200wpm)___ 604(@250wpm)___ 503(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 150968 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 755(@200wpm)___ 604(@250wpm)___ 503(@300wpm)
Cole says I’m a hateful person.
I guess I am.
Because there’s a deep-rooted hostility inside me, breathing bitterness into my soul — where resentment festers like an uncontrollable inferno.
A dangerous, aggressive distaste toward everything and everyone.
I’ve come to hate the world and the people in it.
Except Cole and Maddox. They are the only people who matter — the only people I’d risk my life to save if the world was ending.
And with my hate, comes the need to willfully piss off everyone around me. Because the only way to see what truly lies underneath their perfect mask — a pretty facade, is to drive them mad. Anger makes us see what is real.
Anyway, I can’t lie. Pissing people off is entertaining to say the least. They always take everything so seriously, which means it’s easy to get on their nerves. And people like that are easily broken.
I’ve never met anyone yet who hasn’t proven me wrong.
But the day I do — I’ll get on my fucking knees.
“Does Sienna know you’re here?” Cole snaps his fingers in my face.
I tense at the mention of Sienna. Clearing my throat, I simply shrug. “Can’t really hide anything from her. It’s like she has ears everywhere. I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s got a bunch of secret cameras in the house.”
Cole doesn’t laugh at my joke. “I don’t trust her.”
My hackles immediately rise at his words, and I tilt my head, studying my brother closely. “What do you mean?”
“There’s something off about her,” he says tiredly, before a rubbing hand over his face. He’s got a bit of gruff on his cheeks and chin. “I don’t know…but what does she gain by helping us, or lying for us? And I’m not trying to judge her, but her motives are questionable. She married Dad, and he’s two decades older than her. I mean, it’s not love. That’s for sure. Dad is incapable of love.”
“Money,” I deadpan. “Money makes people do crazy shit.”
“Hmm.”
“I got this. I can handle both Dad and Sienna on my own. Until you get back home.”
Cole gives me a look — not exactly a glare, but it’s close. “I’m still mad at you,” he reminds me, ruefully.
I wave a flippant hand. “You’ll forgive me. I’m the asshole brother; you’re the good brother. You have to forgive me.”
His lips twitch with a slight smirk.
And I know we’re all good.
***
Cole and I get to our feet, and I go around the table. Clasping his shoulder, I tug him toward me into a half-hug. “Two more weeks and then you’ll come back home. You got this, I know you do.”
His rehab program is only 30-days. He’s halfway there now.
“Thanks for the homework,” he mutters begrudgingly.
“Hey now, we can’t have you failing any classes,” I joke half-heartedly.
We say our goodbyes, and then I’m grabbing my earphones and getting the fuck out of here. I walk out of the main building, and instead of following the path to the main gates, I cut through the trees. It never snows in Malibu, but it’s mid-January and slightly windy even with how sunny it is right now. Cole mentioned that there’s a small cherry and clementine orchard right behind the main building. Cherries are a spring and summer fruit. But clementines are harvested in late fall and early winter. If I’m lucky, there might still be a few on the trees.
The orchard is reserved for the residents of St. Lucas Rehabilitation. I’m just a visitor, but I have a weakness for clementines. And Cole, with his knowing smirk is aware of that. Of course he was baiting me. Asshole.
Sweet and tangy clementines; my mouth waters at the thought. I’ll steal some and then I’ll leave. It’s not like anyone would sue for some stolen fruit. They probably won’t even notice if I’m careful enough.
But, then again, stealth is my game.
Walking past the thick pine trees, I spot the small orchard and make my way there. When I’m close enough, I halt in my steps. Looks like I’m not the only one thinking of clementines today.
I recognize her instantly. But then again, who wouldn’t.
She’s a popular face of Berkshire Academy. Was a popular face — she’s now just a sad reject. Someone easily forgotten. An outcast that doesn’t belong anymore.
A fallen princess.
Riley Johnson lost the war and was forced to crawl on her bleeding knees — to watch her kingdom burn to ashes at her feet.
She sits cross-legged on a neatly-folded blanket, under a fruitful clementine tree. With a book in her hand. She’s wearing a short yellow dress, with thin straps and a lace bodice. Her waist length blonde hair is untied, and the cool breeze keeps blowing it in her face. Her gaze never wavers from the page of her book as she tucks her wayward hair behind her ears.