Total pages in book: 145
Estimated words: 144840 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 724(@200wpm)___ 579(@250wpm)___ 483(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 144840 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 724(@200wpm)___ 579(@250wpm)___ 483(@300wpm)
I wanted to fuck the man up as much as possible. He deserved a beating and more.
A good man would have wanted to protect his girl from seeing that.
Decent one would have at least cared.
I did neither and look where it led.
I went in there to protect my girl from harm, and I’m the motherfucker who ended up hurting her.
I hit her.
Square across the temple when I wound my hand back, and my fucking god... she fell.
Brielle went straight down onto her back, went unconscious, and all I did was stand there and fucking die inside.
I didn’t drop beside her, cry for her, help her.
I was frozen, unmoving.
What’s that say about me?
My head lifts on its own, meeting the eyes of a monster’s in the mirror on the wall, and the person staring back can’t face himself.
He’s weak, suffocating, red-painted palm prints smeared along his neck, and matching the shade stained across his hands and arms and clothes.
My clothes.
I wish it were mine, pooled at my feet and allowing me to drown in it, because I sure as fuck don’t deserve to stand here right now.
So, I walk away, into the hall where my family stands with wide, worried eyes, but I don’t pause beside them, and they don’t dare to try to stop me.
But she does.
My name is whispered from behind, and it’s a song that sears my soul.
It’s the softest, gentlest voice, the calm I don’t possess but desperately need, crave, and want.
I feel it tugging at my insides, allowing the smallest bit of air into my throat, reviving my lungs.
Breathing life into a fuckin’ zombie.
My mind refuses, but my body spins, facing the way I’ve just come from.
My chest caves in, hollows out.
Tears the fuck open.
My girl, my baby, fuck. She stands in the doorway, leaning on it for support because I’m offering her none.
She reaches for me... but I don’t reach back.
I turn and give her mine.
Hours must pass, because the next thing my eyes are peeling open and it’s nightfall. I know I’m sitting on the fucking ground, fisting the neck of the bottle, so fuck it, I tip the bitch to my lips, but nothing comes out. I glare at the gold-flecked thing.
Who drank it all?
I toss it to the side, my arm falling with it, and slump against the tree, but the thing moves, sending me flat onto my back.
Fucking moving tree.
I chuckle and attempt to push up, but my arms ain’t havin’ it, so the ground it is.
I stare at the stars, and when I find the Little Dipper, the Ursa fucking Minor she talked about, my fuckin’ chest plate cracks. Wide the fuck open.
Or that’s what it feels like.
After our night on the trampoline, I realized something I should have long before that—she loves the sky, and all that it holds. So, when she was gone, I looked up some shit and figured out how to spot the things she searches for in the dark. I had to know more about what she loved and why.
They look like the thing that comes in the Easter dye kits Maybell used to buy us after it’s been good and used, fucked-up shaped and bent at the handle. Don’t know what they mean or stand for, but I bet she does.
I was gonna steal her, get her out in the night again so we could find these fuckers, and then I’d sit back and stare at her while she told me all about ‘em.
I wonder what she’s doin’ now?
Staring at the stars?
Smiling at the shades of blue?
Crying into her pillow?
There’s a hitch in my gut and it rises into my throat, creating a tight strain.
Worry.
Fear.
Two things Brays aren’t supposed to be, but maybe I’m the weak link.
The fraudulent fool among superior souls.
Destined to fail.
To fall.
I’m fucking falling.
Into oblivion.
My throat closes, and I clench my jaw.
My head pounds so hard I grow dizzy, but the pain is still there, and I don’t want it.
Can’t take it.
It’s intense and motherfucking unbearable.
I’m a weak bitch.
A piece of shit.
I hook my shoe into the bag at my feet and tug it up.
I dig into the black plastic bag and pull out a new bottle.
If I get drunk enough, maybe I’ll forget those nasty little facts.
I wonder how much it would take to convince myself I’m not in love with the girl I have to let go? That I haven’t loved her since before I realized it.
That pushing my baby away isn’t about to fuck me?
Wreck me?
Fucking break me?
Because it is.
Brielle
Once I get home, it’s late, but I’m unable to fall asleep, and when the sun comes up and through my window, my head only pounds harder, my mind running crazy.
When I first got here, I was buzzing and each day my happiness grew, but this morning all I feel is tired and unsure.