Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 79183 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 396(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79183 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 396(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
He puts the bracelet in my hand.
Hot tears stream down my cheeks, and my throat hurts so bad I feel like I really might die as I grip the bracelet.
“Let go,” Quinn whispers. “I’ll help you.”
“And if I can’t?” I ask.
“You always can. It’s not if you can. It’s if you will. Sometimes, we hold on to things because we’re afraid if we let them go, we’ll have nothing left to worry about. Anxiety can be your best friend or worst nightmare.”
“Does he hate me?” I ask.
“Who could hate you?” he says. “We love you.”
“We?”
“We,” he repeats.
I sink back into him, and I release the bracelet into the river, I watch it fall, and I feel myself falling with it.
I didn’t jump, but I fell with it, down into the darkest depths of that river. I left it behind, the dream of perfection, of being enough of making people proud, of finding love, of losing it.
I drowned in its depths.
And it was me who set me free.
Chapter Forty-Two
Ambrose
Two Weeks Later…
I’ve finally been discharged from the hospital, Quinn and MB have taken care of all the funeral preparations for my mom, but MB still refuses to see me.
Quinn said to give it time.
One second was enough.
I love her, I miss her, I need her.
Tessa’s possibly getting charged with child pornography, no shock there, and all I keep thinking while I’m sitting bored out of my mind at home is that I miss MB and that she’s staying with Quinn.
I want to hate him, but he’s done so much for me—him and his family.
I know sometimes his dad can be a prick, but he’s a smart prick, and he’s taken care of the will and everything else, but I’m lonely. And I feel like an idiot because the first day I’m back, all I do is stare at her closed door and wish it would open.
I can’t even go to the bathroom without staring at that stupid shower like I’ve completely lost it. I don’t blame her, and I think she knows it. Quinn says she’s getting there, but how do you get back from that sort of trauma?
I don’t blame her, and yet I do, because she didn’t trust my love, my loyalty—and then I think back on my dad’s death and go, okay, but do you really blame her for thinking this way?
I don’t have to finish school since the accident, but I want to go, I want to see her even though I don’t even know if she’ll talk to me, but I have another week of recovery.
I’m lonely in the giant house I used to boast about but hate at the same time.
How many days did I roll my eyes at my mom or dad, and now I have nothing.
I stare down at the black suit I have to wear for the funeral and don’t even know how I’m going to make it through any sort of speech for my mom.
The eulogy should be done by her son, right? But what if you have no words anymore? What if they’re stolen with each breath you take.
I’ve written nothing.
I feel everything.
Senior year was never supposed to be like this. I was and am a rich asshole complaining about a life I actually get to live.
And they’re buried in the ground.
I take a deep breath and reach for the suit on my bed. I hear footsteps and imagine it’s a ghost. How great would that be?
A total cherry on top.
A knock sounds on my door, and Quinn appears with MB behind him. They’re both in black. MB has a pretty black dress on that hits her at her knees and caps her shoulders. She looks regal, and I miss her so much it hurts.
Quinn’s in a full black suit, and he looks like he hasn’t slept in days, probably because he’s been helping me since I have nobody.
Nobody but him.
I might fall apart right now.
I know I need to learn to face the dark, but I’m terrified I’ll never look back at the light.
At least, that’s what it feels like in the heaviness of my own room as I stare at the suit.
“Hey,” Quinn whispers. “Thought we’d come make sure you didn’t need anything.”
“Loaded question.” I finally answer, then look over at MB. “Are you okay?”
Tears fill her eyes. “I’m good.”
I nod. What else can I do?
Quinn, I can tell, is torn between two worlds, one where I’m his best friend, one where she’s his, one where that’s my girlfriend and foster sister living with him—and finally, one where we both love her.
Eat shit, Shakespeare.
“Guess I’ll just get changed.” I don’t move.
But Quinn does. He grabs my black shirt from the bed and starts to slowly unbutton it—MB moves behind me and tenderly pulls my shirt over my head and tosses it to the ground.