Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 72909 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 365(@200wpm)___ 292(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72909 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 365(@200wpm)___ 292(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
“No one. When it wasn’t me, it was you.”
“Okay,” I murmur. “What do I do?”
“There’s not much we can do. I’ve tried everything. Now all we can do is hope she just comes home.”
“Okay. Thanks, Ridge. If I hear of anything, I’ll call you. And you do the same?”
“Yeah.”
Hanging up, I turn to face Bishop. “What do I do?”
Bishop looks to Nate, and I watch as they both exchange a look. Realization dawns at just who is sitting in front of me.
My face straightens. “I swear to God, if you two have anything to do with this, I will kill you.”
“We have nothing to do with this,” Nate says, walking toward the sink and filling up a glass with water. He turns to face us, leaning on the counter. “But it’s weird as fuck.”
“Weird as fuck?” I scoff, getting to my feet. Bishop’s hand brushes over my thigh, and I look down at it before looking up at him and then looking back to Nate. “That’s an understatement.”
“Just leave it for now,” Nate tells me, shaking his head. “She obviously doesn’t want to be found.”
My shoulders slack in defeat. “I guess. But why didn’t she come to me if she needed help?”
“Who knows why anyone does anything, Kitty?” Nate walks up to me, kissing me on the head. “I gotta bounce.”
I turn around and watch Nate leave the kitchen before looking to Bishop. “You’re not leaving?”
He shakes his head. “No.”
“Why?” Honestly, I could do with some time alone.
“I just want to ask you something.”
“You always seem to want to ask me something.”
He gets to his feet and walks toward me. His chest brushes against mine before his finger comes up and tucks a loose strand of hair behind my ear. “Do you have any memories from when you were young?”
One.
Two.
Three.
Four.
Four.
Four.
“No,” I answer, keeping my face straight and my posture stern.
Bishop searches my eyes, his dark green ones daring my secrets to come out. “No.”
He leans down, tilts his head, and narrows his eyes. “Are you lying to me, Kitty?”
Lie.
“No.”
He pauses, leaving a beat of silence to stretch between us before inching back. “Fine.” He steps away and turns to walk out the door. “If you lied to me, I will punish you.” Then he’s gone, like a fucking tornado whisking up a whole bunch of untouched old emotions. Emotions I have fought hard for years on end to bury. A ten-worded question brought back ten thousand feelings that I have worked so hard to forget. Slamming my eyes shut, I breathe in and out slowly.
In.
Out.
In.
Ou—
“Fuck this.” I walk to the liquor cabinet and pull down a bottle of Johnny Walker. Twisting off the cap, I bring the tip to my mouth and swallow. The harsh whiskey hits the back of my throat before slipping down, cloaking all the feelings Bishop raised. Looking down at the bench, an idea pops into my head. I know Elena and Dad have gone away for the week. I grin, taking out my phone. I haven’t thrown a party yet, and since Nate has thrown plenty, I think it’s time for me to play catch-up. Unlocking my phone, I look at the time quickly. 7:45 p.m. Perfect. I hit dial on Tatum, and she picks up on the second ring.
“Yaaas?”
“Tate?”
“Yes, bitch. What’s up?”
“Party at my place.”
That perks up her attention. “Oh? When?”
“You come now. The rest can come any time after 10:00 p.m. Spread the word.”
“You know I will,” she says.
I can just picture her from here, wiggling in her chair with excitement. I take a swig of the whiskey and smirk. “See you soon.” Hanging up, I flick my phone between my fingers and listen as the clock ticks loudly in the background. My breathing starts to come in thick, so I take deep intakes of breath and close my eyes.
It’s not real. You’re here, older, at your house. Home. Safe, warm. It’s not real.
One.
Two.
Three.
Four.
Four.
Four.
“Why don’t you like me? It’s your birthday today. You’re supposed to be happy,” I whispered toward the mean boy in the sandpit.
“Because you’re disgusting. Because you’re a life ruiner. Because I fucking hate you.”
“That’s a bad word,” I replied softly, even though I wanted nothing more than to burst into tears. I swallowed past the rejection and handed the boy my shovel anyway.
“I don’t fucking want that. Why the fuck do you think I want that now that you’ve touched it? You’re disgusting.” He got to his feet, kicking at the sand until the sharp stings cut through my eyes.
“Ouch!” I cried, no longer able to fight the tears as they poured down my cheeks. “What did you do that for?”
“Because I fucking hate you!” the mean boy roared, and then he stormed off back toward his mom.
Why did he hate me? I’d done nothing wrong as far as I knew. The first time I met him was today.