Total pages in book: 160
Estimated words: 163089 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 815(@200wpm)___ 652(@250wpm)___ 544(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 163089 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 815(@200wpm)___ 652(@250wpm)___ 544(@300wpm)
I know I won’t be able to handle it.
For all these years, the only reason I didn’t lose my goddamn mind or get buried in the static or the black hole that’s always trying to swallow me was simply because I was free.
I had hockey and blood fests that let me purge the chaos growing in my mind. I had Miley and even Dad. I had Dr. Duret, who listened to my constant bitching without judgment. I had Kane and especially Jude, who kept me in check when the demons got too loud.
And for a while, I had Marcus.
In the loony bin, I’ll only have Dr. Fenwick’s professional, unfeeling face.
It’ll just be me and my head.
And…I’m scared of my head.
That motherfucker loathes me and will play all sorts of tricks and games to make me as miserable as possible.
Like last night.
He’ll fill my thoughts with flashbacks of pain, grating sounds, and images of sticky blood.
Lots of blood.
For the entire night, my mind was scratching, groaning, and stealing my breath.
People’s minds help them get on with life; mine sabotages me at every turn.
And if I get locked up, he’ll just torture me.
I’m tired of being tortured.
I’m just so fucking exhausted.
Of everything.
But I still managed to dress up this morning and do my hair so prettily, because I’ll be going to that place with style.
And you know what the best way to go with style is? A picnic.
That’s what I’ve been doing this morning with Violet and Dior as I pretend my problems don’t exist.
Problems? What are those? Never heard of them.
Anyway, Violet, being an excellent host, prepared sandwiches and the cutest cut-fruit plates that I’ve been devouring like a gluttonous motherfucker. All the while talking shit to Danilla.
Listen, I’m still the pettiest petty to every petty on this earth, and I’ll never be okay with the fact that she dated Marcus before me.
The thought of Marcus starts a fire in my chest and a sort of riot in my brain.
You know, I’ve always thought his intensity was uncomfortable, but that’s only because of something simple. My head comes alive around him in ways I’ve never experienced before.
Pre-Marcus, I often felt like I was lost within those stars in my childhood bedroom. Like my soul was still floating there, and my body was just a shell in the real world.
Mostly, I believed I didn’t exist.
That’s why I love pain. It means I’m here.
But Marcus’s touch changed that. It hurt even without impact play, because he touched me deeply, all the way to my soul. He touched me so intimately, it shattered the illusion and crushed my bones.
He touched me so thoroughly, I could feel myself exist in the real world, not just drifting in the unknown.
And those times were the most I’ve ever been myself.
Now, I’m scared I’ll never have that again.
I need to stop thinking about him, because fuck, my chest and eyes burn, and I’m totally not going to cry like a little bitch.
That’d be so embarrassing, and Disney over here will mock me for a lifetime.
I focus on smiling and having fun with the girls. If someone sees me joking around and trying to patch Vi’s relationship with Jude, they’ll never guess I’m running on my last breath.
The one percent battery.
Lack of sleep, emotional drainage from writing the letter, and morbid desperation about losing Dr. Duret, Marcus, and Dad at the same time are messing with my goddamn head.
Scratch.
Scratch.
Scratch.
The sound is loud, but not more deafening than the demons living rent-free in my head.
You know no one loves you, right? Even your mom, who loved you the most, killed herself to escape you.
Lilith was right. Once Miley grows up, she’ll hate you. What type of role model can you be for her? Don’t you think it’s better you fuck out of her life now?
How long can Jude and Kane put up with your shit before they’ve had enough?
It’ll make everyone’s lives easier if you’re just gone, Preston.
I swallow past the onslaught of voices, my throat flooding with nausea.
Fuck.
I’m about to consider leaving, just so I can bang my fucking head against a wall, but then I see the bracelet on Violet’s wrist. Something clicks in my head, and I don’t know whether I want to be wrong or right.
Is that what I think it is?
I might have asked her to remove it like a dick, which she does hesitantly.
A gust of air makes my hair fly back as I flip it and rotate the mechanism that holds the plate at the back until it opens.
As the two plates lay side by side, it confirms my suspicion. Inside, there’s a crescent moon and a sun, matching the symbol on my ring.
I trace the initials carved next to the symbol. W.J.A.
That old man? “Jesus fucking Christ. What the fuck is this?”
“I don’t know,” Violet whispers from her seated position next to me, her body trembling. “This is the first time I’ve seen that. I…didn’t even know it could be opened.”