Total pages in book: 140
Estimated words: 137433 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 687(@200wpm)___ 550(@250wpm)___ 458(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 137433 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 687(@200wpm)___ 550(@250wpm)___ 458(@300wpm)
Daria raps her pouting lips, nodding, like everything makes sense now. “She’s here with us. Pisceans have a hard time letting go.”
“Daria.” Jaime sighs, then turns to me. “Sorry, Lev, her coping mechanism is trying to lighten up the mood when things are…” He trails off.
“Tragic?” I finish for him.
“No, really. Do you know what Richard Ramirez, Osama Bin Laden, Ottis Toole, and John Wayne Gacy all have in common?” Daria parks her waist on the kitchen island.
“Deplorable mass killers?” Bailey winces.
Daria shakes her head. “All Pisces.”
“Oh.” Bailey nods seriously. “Can’t believe science hasn’t looked into that. Can they just stop with wasting all their time and money on finding a cure for cancer and get on top of this ASAP?”
And just like that, I feel a rumble bubbling up from my chest. Actual laughter. Bailey makes me laugh on the day I buried my mother. Incredible.
When everyone is done telling us how irresponsible we were for going MIA today, Jaime insists Bailey walks me home. Dad is waiting, and I guess neither of them trusts me not to run away again.
When I see Dad, I apologize and change into my sweatpants. Bailey is still around, busying herself, so I go to the kitchen to grab some water. When I flip the light switch on, it’s a total mess. Leftover food people have brought over, and there’s a bottle of whiskey with a half-full tumbler sitting on the counter.
Swallowing hard, I make my way to it. I’ve drunk a few beers here and there, but I’ve never actually drank. Thing is, Knight kind of swears by alcohol, and Dad and his friends use it too, when they need a clear head. Maybe I should try it.
My fingers wrap around the whiskey tumbler of their own accord, and I bring it to my lips.
I hear a voice behind my back: “Don’t you dare, Lev Cole.”
Bailey.
I turn around to look at her, not feeling shame or annoyance. Just exhaustion. “I need the pain to go away.”
“Not like this.” She steps forward. “Not by ruining yourself. I won’t let you.”
She takes the tumbler and washes it in the sink, then grabs the whiskey by its neck and walks off with it, God knows where, hiding it somewhere I can’t find it.
Then we both go upstairs and I feel like a small boy again.
She’s still shivering. Still hasn’t had a shower. She turns around, about to walk out the door. But I’m too selfish to let her go just yet. I grab the tips of her fingers before she’s gone and clutch. Her fingers immediately flutter over mine.
“Stay?” I croak.
Her face softens. “Never thought of leaving, silly.”
She sits in my room until I fall asleep. Literally.
She drags a damn rocking chair from my parents’ balcony across the hall and sits and watches me as I succumb to my exhaustion. Not just from today—from years of worrying and taking care of Mom. Of going to bed at night praying and bargaining with God that I would wake up in the morning and she would still be alive.
When I wake up the next morning, Mom’s not there, but Bailey is.
Her head rests on her shoulder, and her mouth is agape. She’s asleep. Guilt stabs at my stomach. Shit. She should’ve had a shower. Something to eat. Gone to sleep in her own bed. I move in my bed, about to stand and wake her up, but at the sound of my rustling sheets, her eyes snap open. She smiles as soon as our eyes meet.
I fucking love this girl.
“Hey, you.” Her voice is pure smoke and gravel. She’s so sexy, and she’s only fifteen. Fuck me sideways, we’re going to have some long puberty years. “Don’t bother looking for that whiskey because I hid it well.”
I shake my head. “Not gonna try that again. Thanks for stopping me.”
“Anytime.”
“Do you think it’ll ever stop hurting?” I ask.
“No,” she says softly. “I’m sorry.”
“Okay.” What the fuck? She should be saying yes, even if she doesn’t mean it. Has she ever met a book/movie/TV show before? Clichés were invented for a reason, goddammit.
“Grief is like a monster. That monster is hungry. It eats whatever’s inside you. But one day you wake up…and find out that it’s full. That it is satisfied.”
“What happens when it’s full?”
“It’s still a monster, but it’s no longer scary.”
“Sounds terrible.” I scrunch my nose.
She leans back in the rocking chair, mulling it over.
“Sounds like life to me. We’re bound to get hurt. Life is a journey, and no road worth taking is smooth and bumpless. Life is a borrow, not a gift, Levy. Take advantage as long as you have it.”
CHAPTER 6
Bailey
“How was it?” Mom peers at me behind her oversized designer shades, clutching the steering wheel.
I slip into the passenger seat and buckle up, ducking my head down. The last thing I need is to be seen exiting a rehab center.