Total pages in book: 47
Estimated words: 46858 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 234(@200wpm)___ 187(@250wpm)___ 156(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 46858 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 234(@200wpm)___ 187(@250wpm)___ 156(@300wpm)
“Yeah, sorry.” I stare down at my hands, my flaky skin burned by the hot dishwater. “I’m just tired.”
“Me too.” Hudson smiles sympathetically. “We should try to find a day we can take off together soon. Maybe we could head down to the old neighborhood.”
He’s said this several times, meaning he wants us to go and visit mom and dad’s graves. I know he’s been almost weekly since it all happened, but the one time I tried, it was like the world was folding in on itself. My breath tried to choke me.
“Maybe,” I murmur. “Or we could go to the movies or something.”
Hudson nods, not needing to ask me what I mean by that.
“You’re a good big brother,” I add.
He grins, and I know he understands why I’m telling him that now. It’s because he never needs me to explain why I might need a little more time.
He doesn’t make me say her name. Jess’ name.
Even saying it to myself hurts sometimes.
After dinner, I go into my bedroom, intending to study my textbook for a couple of hours. But the pull of my bed is too strong.
I lie down, letting my eyes close, and then the visions come to me.
The images of Jess, mom, and dad, not that I ever saw them. Hudson was the one who handled all of that.
He took that evil so I didn’t have to.
But my imagination is fire-filled enough, in the most literal sense.
Flaming agony taunts me until I have to sit up, my hands on my knees.
My mind flits to the office, to the moment Elias leaned in, anything not to think about mom, dad, and Jess.
Kiss him, I scream silently. Take this chance.
I flinch when my phone makes its text-alert noise.
Picking it up quickly, I stare at his name.
Elias.
Each syllable causes a tic in my lips until, miraculously, I’m smiling.
It’s like it doesn’t matter how we left things, doesn’t matter we haven’t spoken in two days. Just seeing his name – before I’ve even read his text – is enough to make all that nasty stuff seem more manageable.
How are you doing, Della? I’ve been thinking about what happened in my office. I’ve got no clue what to say. So I’ve decided to reach out.
Do you want the truth? I reply.
Yes, he texts back, straight away.
I imagine him sitting in his house, probably huge and fancy, if his stock-market career is anything to go by. The other students often talk about that, not that stocks make much sense to me.
I’m thinking about my parents.
I send it quickly because otherwise, I know I won’t send it at all otherwise. That might be for the best, but he asked for honesty.
And there’s something in me, this urge to talk about it with somebody who isn’t Hudson.
What about them? he asks.
It’s pretty horrible. But I’ll tell you if you want to know.
Do you want to tell me? I’m here for you if you do….
Surely, this is a sign he cares about me on some level. Or is this another example of the Second Chance tutors putting in the extra effort with the students?
Then I think, screw it. Screw it.
I want to talk about this. And even if things are confusing with Elias, he wants to listen. He’s ready to listen.
Basically, there was this girl in school. I thought she was my best friend. But I later realized she was a narcissist who enjoyed manipulating, bullying, and putting me down. So I ended the friendship…and she burned my house down with my parents in it. Either she accidentally trapped herself inside or meant to do it to herself, but I doubt it. She loved herself too much. I think she got stuck somehow.
I stop, my breath coming quickly, staring at the text.
Soon after I click send, Elias tries to call me.
I reject the call, my breath picking up even more.
I can’t speak about this over the phone, I send.
That’s fine, Della. I get it. Jesus. That’s evil. That’s wrong on every level. I’m so, so sorry that happened.
I know it’s not your problem….
It doesn’t stop me from being sorry. It doesn’t stop me from hating that bitch. It doesn’t stop me from wishing it hadn’t happened, he texts back.
But it didn’t just happen, did it? I reply.
No, Della. Just no. Don’t go there.
I don’t have to ask what he means.
It’s like he’s in the room with me, his intense eyes aimed at me.
Tears well in my eyes. I rub at my cheeks as they fall, but more replace them nearly instantly.
He sends another text as the tears fall. A bitter piece of me wonders if this is really Elias, the same man who leaned in with that captivating twist to his lips, his eyes taking hold of me or holding me in place. Pinning me there, as I screamed at myself to be ready for whatever he was going to do.