Total pages in book: 134
Estimated words: 124135 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 621(@200wpm)___ 497(@250wpm)___ 414(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 124135 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 621(@200wpm)___ 497(@250wpm)___ 414(@300wpm)
I wanted to burst through the doors that led me to her. I wanted to screw what anyone said and run to Bonnie. Make sure she was okay after her twin tried to kill himself, as all the while she was fighting to stay alive. How the hell did she wrap her head around that?
“Please, Cromwell,” Mr. Farraday said. I glanced at him. He was broken. My father’s face flashed through my mind. Of how he looked the last night I ever saw him. When I lashed him with my words and ripped apart his soul.
I jumped from the chair and ran out of the door. I drove to the nearest liquor store and bought my old friend, Jack Daniels. I hadn’t drunk it in weeks.
I didn’t give a shit about the look the cashier gave me as I slammed my fake ID and cash on the counter, covered in blood.
I ripped through Main Street, fighting the emotions that were threatening to consume me. My head pounded, and pressure built behind my eyes. I blasted a mix that beat in time with my heart. Loud bass notes ricocheted around the cabin of the truck. They usually helped me block it all out. All of the fucked-up thoughts of Easton that were rushing in my head. But it didn’t help. It didn’t drown out the emotions, the feelings that were building in me so strongly that I needed to squash them with alcohol.
I slammed my truck into park. I ignored the stares and the whispers of the students as I stormed up the path to the music room, Jack in hand. I ripped the cap off and took a long, sweet swig, waiting for the burn to take the emotions away. To numb them until I could breathe.
I shouldered the door to the building and staggered down the corridor until I entered the music room I usually used. I stood still as the instruments looked back at me. Mocking me. Crying out for me to use them. But anger took hold. Anger and frustration. I was just so damn sick and tired of it all. I took another swig of Jack then flew at the drum kit, knocking the whole thing over with one furious kick.
But it didn’t help. A cymbal crashed to the floor, but the emotions were still there, bright and vivid in my head. The neon colors almost blinding, the metallic taste of the pain, of the suffering, the helplessness, leaving the taste of burning acid on my tongue.
I shot out of the door and found myself at Lewis’s office. I didn’t think; everything in me was just too consuming to think. I pounded on the door, hot tears seeping from the corners of my eyes, scalding my skin. I slammed my fist on the heavy wood, the thuds building in both volume and tempo. Throbbing yellows filled my head. My breath echoed in my ears—olive green. My heart pounded in my chest—tan brown.
I hit the door harder, every sound, every emotion, every taste an assault on the senses. No, not an assault; a damn near air strike, obliterating everything in its path.
The door flew open and I fell into the room. Lewis was suddenly before me, eyes wide and staring at me in horror. “Christ, Cromwell! What happened?” I pushed him off and started to pace the room. I downed some more Jack, half the bottle gone. But this time the emotions were too strong for me to fend off.
I threw the bottle against the wall, hearing the glass smash and shatter. Tarnished gold spots sailed through my mind. I gripped my hair, pulling at the strands. I hit at my head until Lewis pulled my wrists away. He held them tight and made me look into his eyes.
“Cromwell.” His voice was harsh and strict. “Calm down.”
The fight drained from me, leaving only the florescent print of everything I was fighting in my mind. My tongue ring rolled in my mouth, trying to rid it of the bitterness.
“Cromwell!” Lewis shook me, and my shoulders sagged.
“I can’t take them,” I said, my voice breaking. Lewis’s eyes saddened. I stared down at the blood still on my hands. I hadn’t even washed off Easton’s blood. “He tried to kill himself.” My voice was shaking. I squeezed my eyes shut. “She’s dying.” I palmed my eyes, trying to take away the navy-blue pigment that washed over any other color in my mind. A navy canvas, blotting out everything else.
I fucking hated navy blue.
“She’s waiting on a heart. But I don’t think it’s coming.” Lewis’s hold slackened, but he didn’t let me go. I stared at the painting of brightly colored swirls on his wall. “She’s getting weaker and weaker every day.” I shook my head, seeing Bonnie at the hospital. Being wheeled toward me, eyes sunken and huge. She looked so weak.