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)
The clay breaks down beneath the pressure of the clay molding and pushing, I don’t know what I’m doing yet but I know something is brewing and that’s enough. It’s enough that I feel the pressure of my work, and it’s enough that it takes the pain from my temples away.
"Good," I mutter and sigh. “It’s good.” Like I’m talking to the clay itself, maybe in a way I am, since I can’t trust anyone else in this world.
It breaks and breaks beneath my fingertips, yes, right now I want to break something too. It feels right. I don't know how long I work. Ten minutes. An hour. Maybe both.
The world narrows to clay beneath my palms and the rhythm of my breathing. Push, shape, destroy, start over. The irony isn’t lost on me. I spent the last few years keeping to myself, pushing everyone away, not even really going to parties. He was dead so I lived like I was already dead too. I had a single goal a single focus and now it feels useless, like what did I actually accomplish by doing that? I spent seven years grieving a dead boy, blaming myself, barely even allowing myself to do anything with my life, keeping my head down, working my ass off only to be alone in a studio questioning everything, being threatened by some weird list that may or may not know my past sins and thinking about his mouth of all things. I had no business thinking about any part of Jude’s body and yet here I am, doing exactly that.
Why does it matter anyways? The guy hates me. He sees me and sees a reminder of what I did, he sees betrayal. I already have a hard enough time looking in the mirror I can’t imagine what he feels when he sees my face. I’d want to choke me.
So, basically the guy who ruined me for all other guys would never touch me anyways, so I’ve been comparing him to everyone only to actually have him in real life but not really have him. God, I’m losing it.
A laugh escapes.
Sharp.
Humorless.
"Congratulations, Lilah, you’ve singlehandedly ruined your life twice, the second time without even realizing it. At least the first time you knew you were making that choice."
The clay’s cold beneath my fingertips as I shape and shape some more, muscles burn. “You officially broke your heart twice. Really, really, impressive, even for you.” I keep adjusting the small hand and freeze when I hear someone behind me—no I feel them.
“Agreed.”
I freeze.
Because that voice doesn't belong in my head, though how many stupid times did I think I heard Jude when it was just the wind? My nightmares? My own memories/
It’s coming from behind me, the deep voice, the heady presence, the smell of him wraps around me until I’m afraid to breathe.
My throat tightens.
“Tell me everything.” He whispers. “Start at the beginning, leave nothing out. Shape, work, let the clay become what it will, I want to hear your words while you work, it’s hard to lie when you create art, it’s easier to create your truth and confess your sins than you’d think.
As if it were that easy.
As if I knew where to start.
His body wraps up around me. My back to his chest. I don’t move a muscle as his hands cover mine. Warm. Steady. Tempting and oh so dangerous.
I stare at the frog I’ve been trying to manipulate for the past hour and then I realize that I’ve added a tattoo onto its arm in the last half hour. The same words I saw on Jude.
WAIT.
WATCH.
REMEMBER.
The words blur. What the hell was I doing? Thinking of Jude. Thinking of the frog. I sure as hell can’t lie about it now can I? Of course, everything I create is based off of what I so effortlessly destroyed. That’s life, right?
A shiver runs down my spine as he moves my hands toward the bottom part of the sculpture and helps me smooth the clay down. “I really did think you were dead. Gone from this world. And that it was my fault.”
The confession slips out before I can stop it.
His hands go still.
Completely still over mine.
For a second I wonder if he’s even breathing.
"I know."
My eyes burn. I will the tears to stay where they belong. God knows I’ve shed so many over him in the last few years.
"No, I don't think you do." I whisper. “There are levels of death, you know? Accidents. Sickness. Disappearances. Emotional deaths. This was different, this was life altering, this was the death of my best friend, the boy I loved.” He curses under his breath. I have nothing to lose at this point. “The only one I trusted.”
“And yet you lied.” His voice was raspy like he’s been yelling or maybe he’s just trying not to lose his temper?