Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 66997 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 335(@200wpm)___ 268(@250wpm)___ 223(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 66997 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 335(@200wpm)___ 268(@250wpm)___ 223(@300wpm)
My body went completely hot. “High school boys shouldn’t talk like that.”
“High school girls shouldn’t be so hard to get.” His smile was back, charming, easy. “I don’t want to be called a thief, I won’t steal a kiss you won’t willingly give, so please, Lilah, please kiss me.”
This was it, this was the moment.
A defining moment.
I leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to his mouth, his lips parted while his hands moved to my shoulders, achingly slow, just like the start of a kiss that would ruin me for all future kisses.
I leaned into him as the sound of fighting sounded from downstairs. A gunshot rang out and then another. We pulled apart and stared each other down just as we heard his mom scream his name. Life had other plans than for me to have Jude’s kisses. Life wasn’t fair.
The Dean’s List
1
“A man betrayed learns quickly. Trust is a luxury. Memory is a weapon.” The Count of Monte Cristo
LILAH
We all have things that trigger us, things that make us cringe, flinch, laugh, react in some way that tells the world around us that we are in fact capable of human emotions like fear and distress.
I’ve spent years trying to make my reactions small, just about the same amount of time spent trying to appear like things don’t bother me even when they do. If people knew the actual herculean strength it took for me not to start screaming every time a text alert went off they’d be shocked.
Yeah, a text alert. Because text alerts aren’t always good news. And I received the worst news of my life, of my best friend dying, via text. A freaking text.
I’ve tried them all of the different sounds and notifications. From the cheerful ones to the annoying ones, it doesn’t matter. It’s still a random little blip in my day that feels foreboding like something really bad or really good is about to happen. It annoys the hell out of me when I see people get a text and smile.
I instantly hate that person and then tell myself it’s irrational and they’ve done nothing to earn that hate except for have a purely natural response to something funny or cute. It could be a cat video or declaration of love for all I care, and I still felt this gut reaction of complete and total dread.
I hate a lot of things about myself, but that may actually be the one I hate the most because it seems so stupid and petty at the same time. Even if I don’t like surprises and can’t feel joy like most people doesn’t mean they should also walk around like a zombie just trying to make it through the day.
Ugh, I’m annoyed and hate it when I’m like this.
You’d think after seven years I’d be better at hiding it. If anything, I think I’ve gotten worse, maybe it’s exhaustion from the effort of hiding and forcing the world to believe that I’m okay, who knows.
Most days, when I’m not stressed I can manage the smile. I can repeat all the reasons that I should be smiling because I’m breathing and I can power through, and then I’ll see the sun through the clouds and remind myself I’m alive and the past is in the past.
Where it belongs.
Gone.
Dead.
Buried.
Ugly.
Destroyed.
I shudder. I dreamed of him again. He ruined me. And I’ll never forgive him for it. “Get it together Lilah.” I shake it off and stare straight ahead. It’s not like I should even be allowed to hate him, and sometimes my hate matches how much I miss him. I take a deep breath. I can do this. I’m almost done. I’m about to start one of two final classes I need in order to graduate this semester. This is the moment I should feel joy that I can see the finish line.
Two classes left.
That’s it! If I just focus on that, I’ll forget about the dream.
I need to be proud of myself. I actually managed to finish college without having a breakdown and while convincing my mom I’m not still broken.
Graduating means freedom, a small piece of paper that says I’ve earned it and a whole new life. I will finally be the oyster—or wait that’s the world is my oyster I’m just the— Huh, what would I be, then? Has anyone ever asked that question? If the world is my oyster, then am I water? A fish? A pearl! No that’s a clam. Or is it also an oyster? Why am I getting hung up on this?
And why is my dumb ass staring up at my ceiling debating it?
Guilt assaults me from all sides. He won’t ever see that piece of paper. Am I doing this more for me or for him? What would he even say? Probably that I’m an idiot and overthinking it. Either way, I’m moving forward, and he’ll forever always be the boy that I saw get buried. Wow, that got dark and morbid really fast. What’s done is done. I can’t take it back any more than I can resurrect the boy who took my first kiss.