Total pages in book: 116
Estimated words: 108376 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 542(@200wpm)___ 434(@250wpm)___ 361(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 108376 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 542(@200wpm)___ 434(@250wpm)___ 361(@300wpm)
Most of the lights were off in my house, but a few lamps were on upstairs, so I knew my parents were home.
I didn’t want to see anyone. I just wanted to climb into bed and continue my cry fest until I fell asleep from exhaustion. I’d never been through a break-up before. This pain was new, like a fresh slice down the centre of my chest. It stung and festered. I couldn’t imagine anything ever hurting as bad as this. Maybe it was because I still loved Peter. I didn’t want to lose him, and staring into the gaping void of a future that didn’t include him was agony.
When I finally forced myself to leave the car and go inside, the house was quiet. I hoped I could get to my room without seeing anyone but then my mother appeared out of nowhere. That was the trouble with having a mother who could teleport.
Worry creased her brow when she saw my red, splotchy face. “Darya, what happened?”
“Peter and I broke up.” The words burst out like water exploding from a dam. My voice was brittle and her expression fell. She swept me into her arms. “It’s because of the mark, isn’t it? Peter can sense it the same way I can,” she whispered.
I was shocked. “You can sense it, too?”
“Yes, anyone with strong magic will be able to,” she answered sadly, pulling back to look down at me. “You want to keep it, don’t you?”
I didn’t know how to answer that. One part of me wanted to keep the mark, while another wanted to rip it out and return to the comfort of Peter’s love. Mum pulled me into her arms once more before leading me into my bedroom. I couldn’t remember the last time my mother had put me to bed but I was pretty sure it hadn’t been since I was a kid.
“I had my heart broken a few times before I met your father,” she said, speaking softly. “I know this won’t help how you’re feeling, but it’s something most of us go through at some point in our lives. Right now it probably feels like the pain will last forever, but I promise you it won’t.”
“I still love him. I don’t think I’ll ever not love him,” I said in a watery voice.
Mum placed her hand to my chest, and I knew she was using some kind of magic to soothe me because a sparkly, ticklish sensation moved across my skin. “I know, baby,” she murmured. “I know.”
I wanted to cry again, but then a calming wave crashed over me. I was vaguely aware of my mother’s magic lulling me to sleep but I didn’t protest. Her spell took away some of the pain and I was willing to accept it so long as it meant I wouldn’t feel anything for a while.
The next day when I woke up there were a few brief, blissful seconds when I didn’t remember my broken heart. I recalled my mother sending me off into a magically induced slumber and I was grateful to her because otherwise I wouldn’t have been able to rest. I would’ve kept replaying the look on Peter’s face and letting it slice up another piece of my insides.
My eyes ached from all the crying I’d done in the car and it felt like there was a gaping hole in the pit of my stomach. Forcing myself to get out of bed, I almost shrieked when I saw someone sitting on the armchair in the corner.
“Belinda, what are you doing in here?!”
“I heard your mum telling your sister not to bother you about going to school today because you broke up with Peter last night and have taken it hard. Thought you might need a shoulder to cry on.”
“Hmm, the lack of empathy in your voice makes me believe you might be here to gloat, but sure,” I replied, unable to keep the bite out of my words. We might’ve made tentative headway in our friendship, but Belinda was the last person, or ghost, whose shoulder I’d choose to cry on. I just wanted to be left alone with my misery. “And if you must know, I didn’t break up with Peter. He broke up with me.”
“Oh. Well, you look rested if it’s any consolation,” she said, ignoring my comment about her coming to gloat. That was rude of me. Belinda could be kind…when the mood struck her. But it was difficult to be anything but a horror when it felt like the world was crashing down around me.
“Mum cast a spell to help me sleep,” I told her, wondering if I should get up or stay in bed. If Mum was letting me take the day off school to nurse my wounded heart then staying in bed was the most appealing option. I lay back down and pulled the covers over me, trying to focus on anything but the pain that seemed to encapsulate my very being. How was love worth this kind of pain? Why did we all search for something that could make us feel like we were dying when it was eventually snatched away?