Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 91560 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 458(@200wpm)___ 366(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91560 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 458(@200wpm)___ 366(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
More than anything, I hate her shutting me out. “You know I’m going to get the answers one way or another, right?” What do I have to do to get a reaction out of her? She’s completely disconnected. I might as well be talking to the books behind her. Maybe they would give me answers, because she is clearly not interested.
“You feel like wasting your time? Go right ahead,” she retorts in that same flat, emotionless tone.
Now I see it. How could I have been so blind? “Did you get in trouble for me being over there? Is that it? I did everything I could to—”
“No, no, I didn’t.” Finally, she meets my gaze, but it darts away fast enough that I wonder if I imagined it. “It’s not about you.”
Then what the hell is it about? I want to scream it, to shake her. I want to make sure she knows she can’t just brush me off like this. Not when she looks like she’s carrying the whole world on those thin shoulders that are up around her ears. Like she’s trying to defend herself. From what, from who? What do I have to do to get a straight answer?
“Do I need to sic Tiana on you?” A low blow, beneath me, but this is on her. It’s not my fault she won’t give me what I want. All I’m trying to do is help this stupid girl, or at least find out what happened over the weekend. Why is she deliberately playing games like this?
What did I expect from that threat? For her to maybe look at me? To shock a little life into her? Right now, I would settle for that. If she would glare at me or curse me out or even spit on me, the way she probably should now that I’ve mentioned Tiana.
Here I am, standing here, waiting for her to bitch me out. Feeling more and more like a smacked ass with every silent moment that passes. What the hell is she thinking?
Whatever it is, she’s not telling me. Folding one arm, she grips her other elbow, bringing to mind a shell that’s closing to protect what’s inside. Protecting her from me? I mean, it’s not that she’s completely safe with me, but I’m not trying to hurt her now. I want to come out and say it—to ask her who the hell she thinks she is, denying me like this, assuming I would have an ulterior motive.
“Whatever,” she murmurs before I have the chance to issue another threat, and the flat, empty tone in her voice prickles my skin in a way the coldest wind couldn’t. There’s something eerie about this, something unsettling. Much more than the irritation of her closing herself off, refusing to meet me halfway.
“Look at me. Look at me,” I demand when she scoffs, finally taking her chin in my hand and tilting her head so our eyes meet. “I’m going to ask you one more time. What is happening with you? What was the emergency?” And why the hell does she look like something inside her died? No matter what I’ve done to her, no matter what anyone has done, she’s never looked like this. Completely disconnected.
“Are you finished?” she whispers. What little light was in her eyes draining.
I am finished, because she’s freaking me the fuck out.
“Yeah,” I mutter, releasing her chin, backing away. “I’m finished.”
“Great.” Without another word or even a glance my way, she leaves me standing alone, disappearing deeper into the library.
What. The. Fuck.
I should let it go. It’s not worth it. She’s not worth it. I’ve already wasted too much time on her today. Over the weekend, too, as I argued with myself over whether I should check and make sure she was okay. Her problems are not my problems. I need to forget her.
If only it were that easy.
Dad is going to have to get over me skipping class. It’s not like I would pay any attention, anyway. Not with Maya’s wounded eyes fresh and clear in my memory. Not with her flat, disconnected attitude plaguing my mind, making me ask questions whose answers I shouldn’t care about. Why can’t I go back to not caring? Is that too much to ask?
It’s Wren I’m looking for, and I find her leaving the cafeteria on her way to her next class. I’m glad I caught her, calling out her name and jogging her way when she stops and looks around to see who is trying to get her attention.
My strides almost falter when her expression shifts on noticing me. Is it dread? That or something like it. Why would she dread talking to me? I continue at the same pace, almost reaching her before I have to ask myself what I’m going to say.