Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 129373 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 647(@200wpm)___ 517(@250wpm)___ 431(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 129373 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 647(@200wpm)___ 517(@250wpm)___ 431(@300wpm)
“Mr. Edwards, I know you’re mad. I know that. T-that’s why I came. I wanted to apologize and –”
“I know why you came,” he interrupts – again calmly. “You came because of your stupid drunken mistake, isn’t it?”
I’m this close to wheezing, this close to passing the fuck out with how fast my heart’s beating. But somehow, I manage to nod.
“You came because I paid for it. For your mistake.”
I give him another nod.
“So you think I want your apology, isn’t that it? You think that?”
“Yes.”
“Now, let me tell you what I think, yeah? You want to know what I think when I look at you?”
God, why’s he asking me?
It makes everything doubly dangerous and scary. Like I have a choice. I can tell him no and he won’t tell me.
But I’m never going to do that. I’m never going to tell him no.
I’m going to take whatever he gives me.
I smother my Audrey Hepburn sunglasses between my hands and nod. “What?”
At my small voice, his calm breaks. The hand he has on the wheel flexes and I prepare myself.
“When I look at you, Violet, I think about the night that changed my life. Everyone has that moment. When things change. The moment that you remember for the rest of your life. The moment you think about for the rest of your life. You are that moment for me.”
He takes another pause here like he’s digging out words from somewhere deep inside his soul. Words that he probably wanted to say for a long time but never got the chance to.
Words that I know are going to break apart what little heart I have left.
And then, he proves me right.
“You. A teenage girl who stunk of a thousand-dollar rum. You are my moment. A girl who ruined my life. That’s what I think about. I think about my lost peace of mind. The peace that you took from me. I think about the shitshow my life has become. I think about how the fuck to forget you. And I think about how no matter what I do, I never will. Because you’re a nightmare that’s goddamn unforgettable.”
I scrunch my eyes closed as his stare, his anger, his words burn me.
“So I don’t want your apology. I don’t want you to be here for me, understand? I want you to leave. I want you to get the fuck out of this town and never come back.”
He looks like a towering mountain right now, his shoulders stretched out in front of the window, his chest heaving, his thighs sprawled.
Or maybe a volcano that seems to be on the verge of exploding.
Because of me.
His nightmare.
“Okay,” I whisper, nodding.
I grab my bag, open the door and hop down, all in one breath, and I do what he says.
Shutting the door behind me, I walk to the sign and dump my hobo by it. With my back turned, I squat down and open the zipper.
I root around the hobo for a while, not sure what I’m looking for. Not sure what the fuck I’m even doing.
A few minutes later, I hear the rev of his truck, the screech of his tires as he probably backs up, turns around and leaves me.
All alone on the side of the road.
I wanna cry. I wanna cover my face with my hands and sob into them until I don’t have any tears left in me.
But I’m not gonna do that.
I’m not gonna cry over something I already knew in my heart of hearts.
I knew he hated me.
I knew he was angry and furious and seething.
I expected it.
What I didn’t expect was the fact that I’d become his nightmare.
In all the dreams I’ve had about Mr. Edwards, I never once thought that. I never thought I’d ruin his life and steal his peace.
But it’s okay.
I’m here to fix it. I’m here to make everything right. To pay for my crimes, and I’m not going to be defeated so easily.
I get up and I put on my disguise.
Cap, headphones and sunglasses. I also whip out some lollipops.
I stand up and heave the fat hobo over my shoulders. Turning around, I look at the dark, endless road made even darker by the tint of my shades.
At least he chose to leave me in a deserted area where there are no people around.
Unwrapping my candy, I shove it in my mouth and begin walking.
Not away from his town or him.
But toward him.
Because I’m not going anywhere.
Hallucinations.
Delusions. Illusions. Figments of the imagination.
All of the above are symptoms of a diseased mind. A broken mind. A sick mind. Maybe even a sick heart.
I never liked them, the hallucinations.
Definitely not the ones that are brought on by a sober brain.
Up until tonight, I wanted them to go away. I wanted them to leave me alone and fuck off.