Total pages in book: 166
Estimated words: 160042 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 800(@200wpm)___ 640(@250wpm)___ 533(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 160042 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 800(@200wpm)___ 640(@250wpm)___ 533(@300wpm)
He doesn’t dignify that with a response.
“I won’t,” I insist, clawing my nails at the door. “If you let me go right now, I’ll… I’ll forget about it all. I’ll forget about the letters. About the kidnapping. About whatever you did. About e-everything. You just need to let me go. You just—”
“No,” he says.
Definitively. Decisively.
Like that concludes all discussion. Like he can keep me here. Like he has a right to keep me here.
“You can’t do this,” I say, my voice pitching high. “You can’t keep me here. You can’t—”
“I can.”
“They’ll be looking for me,” I blurt out. “My family. They’ll be… You have to let me go. You have to l-let me go to my family.”
Lie. Lie. Lie.
All lies, but I have to say something, anything to make him let me go.
“And I will,” he says, all calm-like. “In my own time.”
“But this is…” I shake my head. “My f-friends. My—”
“You’ve got no friends,” he reminds me, his dark eyes glittering. “Your only friend left for the Bahamas for the summer. You’ve got no job, no classes. Your mother’s tourin’ Europe like she always does and your father and your brother’s in Black Rock. I took care of your phone and you’ve got no one. No one is lookin’ for you. No one will miss you. The only person who’d wonder about you if your letter didn’t arrive like clockwork on Tuesday is standin’ right here.”
He’s right. No one will miss me. I have no friends. No classes, no job. The only person I thought I had is right in front of me.
“Are you g-going to kill me?” I ask then.
He lets a beat pass by before replying, “No.”
“So then why—”
“You’re no use to me dead.”
“Use me for what? What are you going to use me for?”
This time he stays silent the longest, scrutinizing me as he stands there with his feet shoulder width apart, his spine straight. His hands are fisted at his sides, and his gaze is as steady as ever. And even though he’s all the way across the room from me, it still feels like he’s right by my side.
Right where I am.
It feels like I can smell him, his dangerous musk. Like I can hear his heart beat, a threatening drumbeat. It feels like he’s sucking in all the air, leaving nothing for me. Choking me without laying a finger on me.
Finally, dragging a long breath, he answers: “Revenge.”
To: Peyton Turner
From: Bo Porter
So your mother was an idiot to fall for a man like your father. And now you’re letting them both win by living the life of a ninety-year-old.
Did I get that right?
Bo
To: Bo Porter
From: Peyton Turner
Dear Bo,
I do not live the life of a ninety-year-old!
I don’t go out and party and get drunk like the rest of my classmates because it’s the responsible thing to do. In fact, it’s the opposite of living the life of a ninety-year-old. Because at least, I don’t puke my guts out and look like I’m on my deathbed while walking to my class. Along with doing a stumbling walk of shame the following morning because the guy I’ve chosen to sleep with turns out to be a freaking slob who pees in the sink because he’s too hungover to look for the bathroom.
Is that a clear enough picture for you?
Another thing: I’m not letting him win either. Again, I’m doing the opposite of it. I’m getting even by being smart. Getting even or revenge isn’t about making the other person pay. It’s about living a good life and not letting them affect you. It’s about not letting them take a piece of you.
Because they’ve already taken enough.
Peyton
To: Peyton Turner
From: Bo Porter
Peyton,
That’s pretty, what you said about revenge.
Bet you read that in a book. Because that’s all you seem to do. By your own admission, you don’t really do anything other than read. You lived on a ranch but you’ve never ridden a horse. You miss the place you grew up in but you won’t go back to it. Because you don’t really go anywhere. You don’t see anything or meet anyone.
You live a careful life. A safe life. A life where you hide out from everything that could touch you all because you don’t want to make the same mistakes your mother did. So your solution is to not make any mistakes at all.
That’s neither revenge or being smart.
That’s being a coward.
So I don’t think you’re the one I should be seeking advice from, do you?
Bo
To: Bo Porter
From: Peyton Turner
Dear Bo,
I could be really angry right now.
I could be calling you names and you’ll deserve them. You know you’ll deserve them.
But I won’t. Because I think something happened to you, didn’t it? Something big. Something bad. Something that’s made you angry. So angry that you’re lashing out at me even though I’m not the one you’re angry at.