Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 65552 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 328(@200wpm)___ 262(@250wpm)___ 219(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 65552 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 328(@200wpm)___ 262(@250wpm)___ 219(@300wpm)
My vision is so blurry, I can’t see anything, but I know he’s still there.
“You can leave now. You’ve got what you wanted. Go tell everyone, go make a mockery out of me like I know you want to.” The ache in my chest is intensifying, making it hard for me to breathe, and I gasp for air like I’m being choked.
“I’m not going anywhere. Scoot over and climb under the covers.”
“Why?” I ask as I start doing as he says. I’m so used to doing what he tells me, I simply act and ask questions later.
“Because I want to hold you, that’s why. Now don’t ruin this. Roll over and let me do this.”
“I don’t want your pity.”
“I don’t pity you, Kennedy. In fact, for the first time in forever, I think we actually might have something in common. Now roll over before I make you.”
Doing as he says, I roll over and pull the blanket up to my chest. A moment later, I hear clothes hitting the floor, and then he’s crawling under the blanket and moving toward me. Heat envelopes my body, and when he puts his arm over me and tugs me back into his bare chest, I feel… safe, which is the strangest thing since he’s the last person I should feel safe with.
“What do you mean by we have something in common?”
“I feel the same about fighting in the pit. I like kicking the shit out of someone, but I don’t mind getting my face smashed in either. Physical pain is better than the alternative, isn’t it?”
“Yeah…”
“Sleep. Your secret is safe with me, Junebug.” He uses the nickname he used to call me when we were younger, and my heart shatters. I sob into the pillow while he holds me tight, holding all my broken pieces together. Then, I close my eyes and fall into a fitful sleep, wondering if he really means it.
Is my secret safe with him?
19
Jackson
Seeing her pain for the first time is like ripping the scab off an already healing wound. I thought what I was doing was the right thing. I thought she was bluffing, pretending that she felt bad, but the proof was right there. I thought that discovering her pain—seeing her suffer—would give me more satisfaction than it did. Instead, it made me sick, made me hate myself a little bit. Knowing she was cutting herself, causing herself physical pain. All along, she had been suffering right in front of me. I was just too self-absorbed to see it. Too wrapped up in my own pain, in wanting to make sure she was hurting, to notice that she was.
I spent all night holding her in my arms, listening to her sob. I can’t wrap my head around her thinking I was going to tell. Make fun of her. I almost scoff at the thought. It’s totally understandable why she would think that, but I’m not that big of an asshole. I won’t have her doing it anymore now that I know though.
What if she cuts herself too deep?
I can’t have her death on my conscience, and I can’t lose her. I don’t know if I’m ready to forgive her or if I ever fully can, but I don’t want to lose her.
After not sleeping a lick, I drove back to my apartment just as the sun was rising. Yes, I’m a pussy. I didn’t want to be there when she woke up. Mainly because I’m not sure what I should say to her. I don’t know how to react to the knowledge that she’s been hurting herself, cutting herself for god knows how long to deal with the pain.
I think about what my mother told me as I toss a ball at the wall and catch it. I haven’t dealt with my sister’s death because I feel like the moment that I do, the moment that I accept she’s dead, I’ll start the process of moving on, of forgetting her, and I can’t imagine ever forgetting someone like her, even if she is dead.
Then the shit with Kennedy makes me feel guilty, it makes me feel like I’m betraying my sister. Yet, I can’t shut off the fact that I care about her.
Sighing into the empty room, I wonder what Jillian would want me to do? Would she approve of me caring for Kennedy? Would she be okay with me forgiving her?
Confusion seeps into my bones. I don’t get a chance to focus on it, though, because my cell phone starts ringing, interrupting my thought process. I grab the device from beside me and look at the screen.
It’s my mother. I haven’t talked to her in some time, and I kinda miss her. Hitting the green answer key, I put the phone on speaker.
“Hey, Mom.”
“Hi, sweetheart, how are you?”