Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 107306 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 537(@200wpm)___ 429(@250wpm)___ 358(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107306 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 537(@200wpm)___ 429(@250wpm)___ 358(@300wpm)
“I’m not yours,” Shai counters, looking away.
“Yes. You are,” I say simply, though what I said is anything but simple. I don’t even know what I mean by it or why I said it, other than it feels right.
“What’s your favorite movie?” he asks, surprising me.
We talk horror flicks again, sharing favorites.
“I watched Nightmare on Elm Street when I was, like, five,” he admits.
“Always a good choice.”
“Yes, but probably not at five.”
“Why?” I ask.
“Jesus, Cherry. I never know what to expect from you.”
“That makes two of us.” I grin, and he chuckles.
“Anyway, my mom was gone doing…whatever the fuck she was doing. I was so scared at the beginning. I was a fucking kid, home alone, watching horror movies at night, but…I don’t know. Something about being able to watch it made me feel brave. That probably doesn’t make any sense.”
“So? We put too much stock in things making sense. What we feel or don’t feel has nothing to do with logic. It helped you make it through, that’s what matters.”
He nods like I’m right, like he fucking believes what I said, like it makes him feel better or at least like someone understands, and there’s something intoxicating about that.
“Yeah…yeah, I guess. Thanks.”
Shai gave me that piece of him, one that feels deeper than what a lot of people would see on the surface, so…I should do that back. That’s like, a thing people do. “My mom killed herself. I was home with her when she did it.”
Shai’s brows draw together. “Jesus.”
Yeah, I agree. It’s a lot.
“I was in my room, working on this model airplane—I was obsessed with flying as a kid. She used to do them for me, and this was the first one I did by myself. I finished it, went to show her, and found her. She slit her wrists, but she did it in her bed. There was blood everywhere, all the white sheets had turned red.” Sometimes when I close my eyes I see it, though I try not to.
All that red.
All that blood.
“Holy shit. I’m so sorry,” Shai says, and then I feel it…his fingers in my hair, the tips scratching at my scalp in this way that Cillian or Ollie would do to me. Affectionate, caring.
“I sat there with her for hours…on the fucking bed. I couldn’t move, couldn’t call anyone. She looked so fucking peaceful, Shai. I remember that. It’s wild that she could, surrounded by all that blood, but she did.”
His fingers burrow into my hair, gaze sad and sincere.
“Eventually Cillian showed up. I can’t say how he knew I needed him, but then, he’s always known. Suddenly, he was there, in my house. He climbed on the bed, didn’t fucking care about the blood or a dead body, and just sat with me, put his arm around me. We didn’t speak, and he didn’t try and get me to leave, simply waited with me until I was ready.”
I feel weird right now, almost like I did that night, standing outside my body and looking down at myself. Sharing this with Shai is weird, right? What am I doing? Why am I telling him this?
“We bandaged her wrists, which is fucking dumb, but we did it anyway. Then we wrapped her up in the sheets and blankets. Cil called Tiernan, and in no time he was there too—three eight-year-olds being adults and taking care of business. Cillian called his father, and all the grown-ups came. I remember how everyone looked at me, all covered in her blood, wide-eyed and feral.”
“What about your dad?”
“He’d decided he was done with her before that. Cillian’s parents—Rian and Moira—came, and Fia too. She’s Tiernan’s mom. And then Conan, another member of our family. Conan and Rian beat the shit out of my father when he came back, for not taking care of her or me. Sloan was pissed at them for it. They were likely punished. Rian and Moira took me home with them. Conan and Rian, neither liked my father much after that.”
I haven’t talked about her in a long time, and I’m not sure how I feel about it.
“Do you have anything? Coke or something?” I ask.
“I have some weed.” He climbs out of bed and grabs a box from his closet. We sit in bed together while Shai rolls a joint. “I’m sorry.”
“For not having coke?”
Shai frowns. “For what happened. What you saw and what you lost. I’m glad you had them—even if I do think Cillian is an asshole.”
I shrug. “We’re all assholes. But he’s the best of us all, if I’m being honest.”
“I’ll have to take your word for it.”
“You’ll get to know him.” I take the joint from him and light it, pulling the smoke into my lungs, my whole body relaxing.
“Why? Because I’m friends with Ollie?”
“Yes, but also because I want you to. Because he’s my person, and you’re my pet, and…” And it doesn’t feel right for them not to know each other. I don’t want to consider what that means.