Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 87152 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 436(@200wpm)___ 349(@250wpm)___ 291(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87152 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 436(@200wpm)___ 349(@250wpm)___ 291(@300wpm)
It’s an obsession. Or an addiction. Is this what it feels like to be caught up in the grip of something I know is only going to hurt me in the end? Seeing the dependence for what it is, knowing I need to do something about it, wondering if there’s any chance. Like I’m kidding myself if I think I can break free.
Knowing there’s part of me that doesn’t want to. Because as complicated as life is because of her, I can’t remember the last time I felt this focused or alive. Like instead of going through the motions every day, there’s a reason to get out of bed and go to school. Not only because somebody expects me to, but because I want to. I want to see her, even if that comes along with her attitude.
Walking into the science building, I check my phone for the time. I have twenty minutes until biology on the second floor. The idea of going back out there and taking another lap of the quad occurs to me—until I spot those familiar curls coming down the hall, bobbing with every step she takes as she comes my way. And all of a sudden, I can breathe easier than before. Like I’ve accomplished something, strange and inexplicable as that sounds.
There’s something gratifying about the way her expression shifts when she looks up and sees me watching her progress. She goes from distracted to disgusted, but instead of offending me, all it makes me want to do is put myself in her way.
“Good morning,” I offer when she’s close enough. “How are you feeling today? I didn’t think you’d show.”
Rolling her eyes, she shifts her backpack over her shoulder. “What? Was I supposed to be too afraid of seeing you?”
“Should you even be here today after the way you were hurling last night?” She still doesn’t look good—pale and tired, the way she was at the house.
It won’t stop her from being a stubborn pain in the ass, though. “I’m fine. Thanks for your concern.”
“At least we know it wasn’t the lasagna,” I joke. The way she rolls her eyes tells me she doesn’t think it’s funny. “You didn’t really eat any of it, did you?”
“What are you getting at?” she mutters, eyeing the people walking past. Almost like she doesn’t want to be seen with me and hopes they don’t notice. “I think I had something for lunch that didn’t sit well on my stomach. Is that a crime?”
No, but she’s acting so guilty and defensive, and it makes me wonder. “What are you trying so hard to hide?”
Her mouth falls open before snapping shut. “I don’t have time for this.”
“Wait a minute. I’m serious,” I grit out when she tries to walk around me. Let her roll her eyes and stomp her foot all she wants. That’s not going to make me move. “It’s obvious there’s something you don’t want anybody to know. Not even your grandma.”
After a few slow blinks, she shakes her head. “What’s it like to live in your head? I can’t decide if it’s a horror movie or one of those brainless comedies that are only funny to stoners.”
“Yeah, sure. Be a smartass. Try to distract me. But it’s not going to work.” I slide my hands into my pockets, planting my feet in case she thinks she can push past me. “It’s obvious you’re full of shit with these visits to your grandpa. Who are you really going to the hospital for? Why doesn’t your grandma know about it?”
She slowly pulls her head back, then scrunches up her face. “You’re deluded. And it’s none of your business, anyway. Get out of my life.”
It’s a little too late for that.
“But speaking of my grandma,” she adds, dropping her voice to a growl, “you had no right following me home. It’s not bad enough you and your brother have made it your mission to mess with my life. You even broke my necklace. Why would you bring her into this? Are you completely insane?”
I don’t want to think about the necklace. About the way she howled like a hurt animal. “Oh, come on. It made her happy, thinking you actually had a friend.”
“You’re psychotic,” she hisses, almost spitting out every word. “Now get out of my way and get out of my life. Because as uncomfortable as you’ve made me,” she adds with narrowed eyes, “I can make it worse for you, and you know what I mean. So maybe give that some thought for the next time you have nothing better to do than stalk me.”
It’s like she touched a match to a powder keg inside my skull. It’s about to explode as we stand here, face-to-face, with people all around to witness the aftermath. Instead of giving them a show, I reach out and grab her by the elbow.