Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 76710 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 384(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76710 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 384(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
“What are you doing?” I ask, eying the laptop in his hands.
“Movie?”
I narrow my eyes at him, debating. “Okay.”
Jesse moves my bedside table, then angles the laptop so we can both see it. “What are you in the mood for?”
“Nothing sad,” I answer. He clicks around, settling on a movie before climbing into bed with me. I’m still sitting, nerves percolating in my stomach, but Jesse opts for a more comfortable position, lying on his side behind me.
“Relax, Allie.”
I nod in response. The opening credits for Zombieland play on the laptop screen, and it breaks the tension I’m feeling. I laugh softly, moving onto my stomach. My knees are bent, feet crossed in the air, my chin resting on my folded arms. My goal when choosing this position was to put more space between us, but that was a mistake because now, all I’m doing is wondering if he can see up my shorts.
Fighting the urge to look behind me, I focus my attention on the movie. Jesse is on his best behavior for the first half, but about forty-five minutes in, he sits up against the headboard before his hand circles one of my ankles, tugging me toward him. I shift closer until he pulls me into him, my back to his chest.
“What are you doing?” I whisper as his arm bands around me, his palm coming to rest on my stomach.
“Touching you,” he says, his voice thick from not speaking.
“Why?” My stomach tightens, my pulse quickening.
“Because I like it.”
Okay, then.
After overanalyzing his actions and motives for a solid twenty minutes, I eventually start to relax. Jesse’s warmth and his scent work together at making me feel all sleepy and content.
I jerk awake in the dark room, feeling overheated and clammy. Sitting up, I rub my eyes as consciousness creeps back in.
Dad.
The dream felt so real. He was playing his guitar, his hair a little too long and a little too greasy. But he looked happy. Only, when I walked toward him, the distance between us seemed to stretch farther. I started to panic and tried to run toward him, but it felt like I was moving in slow motion against a thousand pounds of water holding me back. My dad was oblivious, still smiling and singing along to his song, but I couldn’t hear him. And when I tried to scream, nothing came out.
I bring a hand to my chest to calm my racing heart, batting away a single tear that rolls down my cheek with the other.
“That happen a lot?” Jesse’s deep, sleep-thick voice rumbles from behind me, startling me.
I shake my head. “Hasn’t for months.” I feel him shifting behind me and look over my shoulder in time to see him turn onto his back, crossing his arms behind his head.
“What’s it about?”
I bring my knees up, resting my chin on top of them as I debate how much information I want to divulge. I’m feeling raw and split open, my grief a living, palpable thing in this moment. Both the dark room and the fact that I’m not facing him give me enough anonymity to speak.
“My dad,” I finally say. Jesse stays silent. Whether it’s not knowing what to say or sensing that I need a minute to wade through my thoughts, I’m not sure. “The accident was almost a year ago.” The words still feel wrong, even after all these months. “I used to dream about him all the time at first. The anniversary is coming up. Maybe that has something to do with it,” I muse, more to myself than him. It’s hard to believe the world has existed for almost three hundred and sixty-five days without him. “Sometimes I think the nightmares are better than not seeing him at all.”
“That’s fucked up,” Jess remarks, and I huff out a humorless laugh.
“We’re all a little fucked up.”
“That’s an understatement,” he agrees bitterly.
Turning around, I sit cross-legged on the bed. “Tell me yours?”
“My what?”
“Your fuckedupness. I need a distraction,” I whisper. I don’t want to think about my dad right now. I can see enough to make out his hand pushing through his hair as he blows out a breath.
“What do you want to know?” he grumbles. “My list is longer than most.”
“Let’s start with something simple. Where are your parents?”
“Fuck if I know.” He laughs. “Lo and I moved out here to live with our dad a couple of years ago. Turns out, Henry wasn’t even our dad.”
“What?” I did not see that coming.
“Yup,” he says matter-of-factly. “Poor bastard didn’t know it either. My mom won’t tell us who the real sperm donor is. Lo thinks she’s just being a bitch, but I’d bet money that she doesn’t even know.”
“Where is she?”
“Probably passed out in an alley somewhere in Oakland.”
“Shit,” I breathe. “That is fucked up.”