Total pages in book: 132
Estimated words: 125465 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 627(@200wpm)___ 502(@250wpm)___ 418(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 125465 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 627(@200wpm)___ 502(@250wpm)___ 418(@300wpm)
Emphasis on the word try. Deep, restorative sleep has evaded me all summer. Every time I open my eyes, I expect—hope—to find a familiar dark figure standing at my bedside. And every time, I’ve been thoroughly disappointed.
So why can’t I stop hoping?
Once I’m alone in my room, my back to the closed door, I can let myself relax. The tension in my neck and shoulders is a testament to the hard work of keeping myself in one piece and not giving away any hint of the dark cloud that still insists on following me wherever I go.
It’s like nature has decided to reflect my internal darkness—the day was gray and gloomy, but night has brought on the promise of a storm. Beyond my window, the wind picks up speed, the gusts bending the trees. In the distance, lightning flickers, highlighting the big greenish-gray clouds with every flash.
With my luck, it will rain so hard that I won’t be able to take off tomorrow. It isn’t that I’m desperately looking forward to going to school, but I’m not sure I could take another day of pretending for the sake of my family.
With a sigh, I push away from the door, pulling my T-shirt over my head as I cross the room. A nightgown at the foot of the bed and the clothes I’ll wear in the morning are among the only things I haven’t packed away. The only thing Mom didn’t insist I bring along are the fancier outfits in my closet, which I doubt I’ll ever have any need for, anyway.
This time tomorrow, I’ll be unpacking in my new apartment. It still doesn’t feel real, even though I’ve had months to wrap my head around the fact that I’ll be going to Corium. I’m caught in limbo, waiting for the other shoe to drop. Waiting to wake up from a very long nightmare.
There is no waking up.
This is my reality.
Why can’t I get it through my head?
I’ve barely finished getting changed for bed when there’s a soft knock on the door. “I thought you said you wanted me to get some rest?” I sigh, turning as the door opens.
Only it isn’t Mom poking her head into the room this time.
Aspen and Quinton have been staying here all summer while their house on the compound is being built. I can’t really say I’m shocked to see her.
“Hey. I wanted to catch you before you went to sleep,” Aspen murmurs, wearing a tentative smile.
She has been a part of the family for years now, but there are still times when it seems she’s tiptoeing around, wanting to be sure she doesn’t ruffle feathers. I guess all the time she spent as an outsider, the daughter of a rat, had a long-term effect on her.
“Come on in. Sorry—you know I love her, but I don’t know if I can stand being asked one more time if I packed all my underwear.”
She giggles knowingly. “Then I won’t bother asking you myself.”
“What’s up? Are you feeling okay?” She certainly looks fantastic, better every day. Her skin glows, and her hair is thicker and shinier.
The bump she’s sporting is adorable, and I catch her mindlessly running a hand over it every once in a while. I don’t even know if she notices she’s doing it.
She does it now, gazing out the window at the approaching storm. “Can you feel the electricity in the air?” she asks, and I nod in agreement. Yes, the air has that feeling to it. Like something’s going to explode.
“So what’s up, really?” I finally have to ask, perching on the foot of the bed. She’s not very good at faking casualness. “What’s on your mind?”
Her shoulders rise and fall in a deep breath. “Because I know you’re going to ask, I’ll tell you right now; I haven’t said anything to Q about this.”
I grimace while bracing myself, a pit beginning to form in my stomach. “That’s not a great lead-in, no offense.”
“It’s just I’ve noticed something ever since you first got home. I didn’t want to say anything because I figured it wasn’t my place.”
And here I am, cringing inside, my guts twisting and my blood turning to ice. Didn’t I tell myself it seemed like she knew something was wrong with me? That first dinner after I got home. Months have passed since that night, and she’s never given me any indication since then. No lingering looks or quirked eyebrows. No late-night visits to my room for a heart-to-heart.
My luck has run out, it seems.
“Is there anything you need to get off your chest?”
She perches on the window seat, hands folded between her knees. Nervous but caring. I have to focus on the latter of the two.
She cares, and in this world, I’ve learned not people truly do. I need to appreciate caring when it comes my way.