Total pages in book: 213
Estimated words: 201920 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1010(@200wpm)___ 808(@250wpm)___ 673(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 201920 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1010(@200wpm)___ 808(@250wpm)___ 673(@300wpm)
“I thought I was over feeling like this…” Before I can finish, the air conditioner blows across my skin from above me just then, and a flow of goosebumps trails down my arm and shoulders making me wish I hadn’t picked this seat.
“You want to switch spots?” Sebastian asks and again, I’m surprised he would ask me that.
I gently shake my head and try to recall what I was thinking only seconds ago. Before Sebastian destroyed my thoughts again with a mere five words. He’s good at that.
Clearing my throat, I stare down at the half-eaten pile of fries and remember the gut-wrenching feeling and sickness of what’s to come. The living in fear and agony part. Oh yes, that’s what he took my mind from.
“I thought I’d gotten over this feeling of being in constant state of fear and guilt.” I don’t look at him as I speak this time. If I do, I’m not certain that my mind will stay on course. “Even after you…” I don’t mention what he did, and my gaze almost darts up to meet his eyes, but instead, they fall on his lips. “Even after school let out that year,” I say, choosing to settle on the time rather than the action we both know I’m referring to. “Even then, at night there was this feeling, but it drifted away. And then when my uncle died, I was just angry.” My voice raises at the thought, my breathing coming in faster.
Sitting back into my seat, I look at him and feel as if I should feel ashamed, but I’m not.
“Angry?” he questions.
“Yeah. I was angry. It wasn’t fair that I was stuck here.” Emotions threaten to come up at my admission. I loved my uncle and he’d passed only two years ago, right before I graduated high school. I was old enough to take the shit debt he left behind. “I know it’s not his fault; he wanted better for me…”
I don’t finish that line of thinking. “The point is, I thought I was done with all of this. For the first time in so long, I was fine.”
“You were relying on yourself. So, of course, you were fine.” Sebastian sounds confident in his response, but he doesn’t get it. Parts of me are so thoroughly broken that even the idea I have to rely on myself is horrifying. Rebecca used to say it was understandable after the trauma I’d been through. What she called trauma, I just called my childhood. No wonder I turned to books and writing to help me cope. Getting lost in my stories was a lot more enjoyable than facing reality.
“Everyone needs someone,” I answer him, holding his gaze and praying he can feel what I mean. That he can know how deeply settled I am in that decision.
“You didn’t have a someone, and you were fine.”
I almost answer him with, I didn’t say everyone deserves someone. Almost. But I decide to swallow it down. I sure as hell don’t want his pity.
The ping of my phone distracts me from the conversation. Sebastian’s here with me, so it must be Angie. Pulling it out, I see I’m right.
Where the hell are you? Stop being a bitch and answer me!
Angie certainly has a way with words.
I’m not coming in. I send her the response and then think better of it and add, I’m sorry. I’m just not feeling all that well today.
Before she can reply, I silence my phone and slip it back into my purse. She wouldn’t understand. She’d think I’m crazy. Shit, I think I’m crazy. My heart beats a little faster at remembering the pure fear that ran through me when I saw Tamra died. My name was on the bottom of that list. If someone else made a list like mine, would my name be on theirs too?
The chill from the air conditioner comes back and I let my head fall back with my eyes closed, suppressing the urge to feel anything at all. I’d rather be numb to it all. Goosebumps prick along my skin once again, slowly this time. It’s just the chill, I tell myself. It’s definitely from the air conditioner.
“Who’s that?”
Sebastian’s question distracts me from my thoughts and I open my eyes slowly to tell him, “Nobody.”
“So, nobody texted you?” Sebastian asks with what feels like a touch of jealousy. I’m ashamed by the way my body reacts. I feel a heat that swells from the pit of my stomach, rising up but also moving lower. Forcing a small smile to my lips, I answer him, “Just a friend.”
When his expression doesn’t change, I roll my eyes at him and say, “I finally got one of those.” My answer is pitiful, but I own it. I don’t care that I’m a loner who prefers books and writing and hiding away in my stories. Books are cheap, and the people in them are better than the ones I have left here.