Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 92702 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92702 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
And here’s everybody walking around me, living their normal lives. To think, I used to resent them before. I used to wonder why my life couldn’t be normal like theirs. Why I had to struggle while they got off easy. I only thought I had problems back then, and it’s enough to make me laugh at myself. I do, too, softly. I don’t need anybody noticing and thinking a crazy homeless girl is hanging around campus, clutching a tote bag to her like her life depends on it and laughing at nothing but the voices in her head.
I should go someplace else, somewhere less visible. Somewhere Enzo won’t be able to find me right away. Or should I make it easier, so he won’t be as pissed off when he finally catches up to me? I’m frozen with indecision.
And then I see her when I look up at the students walking in and out of the building. She’s coming out, holding an iced coffee from the café inside. “Elena,” I breathe as my pulse quickens. She looks like she’s on top of the world, and why shouldn’t she be? She’s always had everything going for her, from her looks to her family connections.
But when she sees me, her face falls, even if she tries to cover it at the last second. She’s not fast enough. I saw it, but that’s not going to stop me when she might be my ticket to getting out of this without Enzo breaking my neck for running away.
“Elena!” I’m off the bench in a second, fatigue and morning sickness forgotten. “I’ve been wondering about you!”
“Hey, girl.” She tries to sound sunny and enthused, but it falls flat. “I’ve been meaning to text you.”
Yeah, right. I’m sure she has. I keep smiling like there’s nothing wrong. “Where have you been? I was hoping I could catch up with you after class sometime, but you’re always in a huge hurry—when I see you there,” I add. I have to remind myself to sound concerned, not annoyed.
“Things have been kind of crazy. I was sick for a little bit, and it was just a mess.” She starts walking, and I join her without asking if it’s okay because I might never get an opportunity like this again. She’s wearing the look of somebody who wishes they had decided to skip the iced coffee this morning.
“Hey, I heard a rumor about you,” she says with a grin, elbowing me. “It’s crazy, but I see that ring you’re wearing, so I guess it must be true. You got married?”
“Oh, yeah,” I confirm with a shrug. That’s not exactly what I want to talk about right now, or ever for that matter. After all, I have her to thank for it in part. “It was sort of a crazy, whirlwind kind of thing.”
“Yeah, that’s what I heard. I didn’t even know you had a boyfriend.” Meanwhile, I’d like to know who told her. Who would care or know me well enough to spread rumors? Maybe somebody overheard us in the office when we came in to talk about me staying enrolled.
Or maybe she heard it through her family. I doubt she’d admit it if that was the truth.
“I didn’t,” I admit with a shrug. “It’s like they say: when you know, you know. I always thought that was bullshit, but now I understand.” I wish it was true. I really do. The ache in my chest is excruciating, but I smile my way through it.
“That’s really cool. You missed a lot of school, though, didn’t you? You just kind of fell off the face of the earth for weeks.”
“I worked something out. I can make up all the assignments I missed as long as I have the work finished by the start of next semester.”
“Oh, that’s great.” I’m waiting for her to say something else, but she doesn’t, and silence falls between us. I wonder what she’s thinking. She has to be curious, doesn’t she? Does she want to ask me about what happened at the warehouse and what came afterward? I wish she would. I’m already exhausted enough, and keeping up the pretense of being friendly and normal is only making things worse.
“So where did you meet your husband?” she asks, sipping her coffee and checking her phone even though we’re in the middle of a conversation. But that’s how she always is. She can’t keep her mind on one thing at a time.
“Oh, um, it’s kind of a long story. The kind of thing we’d have to sit down and talk about.”
“Well, who is he?” she prompts with a smile. “What’s he do? Is he from here? Does he go to school here, or is he older?”
“He’s a little older,” I murmur, trying to think beyond the haze of fatigue I’m fighting. It was hard enough when I was alone but having to maintain a conversation is so much harder.