Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 98023 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 490(@200wpm)___ 392(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98023 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 490(@200wpm)___ 392(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
Lexi
I stare down at my phone, my last text to Blake the final entry in our chat. I wait for him to respond. I wait for him to call me out on my bullshit.
I wait and I wait, and it’s all useless because I’m the one who just completely pushed him away.
I reread my words, and I hate how cruel and unemotional I sound. It’s the worst form of irony to tell someone to move on when you’re sitting on the subway with tears streaming down your cheeks because of the fact that you just witnessed them moving on right in front of your face.
Blake told me he missed me. And I’d be the ultimate liar if I didn’t admit that I miss him too.
I miss his laugh and his smile, and I miss the way he makes me feel whenever we’re together. I miss his cheesy jokes and the way his face always brightens the room, and I miss how comforting it feels to be in his arms.
I miss our late-night chats and our documentary binges and how he’s probably the only person who could get me to eat pizza that was made in some dude’s dorm.
More tears stream down my cheeks, and even though I’m not alone on the subway, I’m silently thankful that I live in a busy, fast-paced city like New York so that I can blubber in peace without some random stranger asking me what’s wrong.
That’s the thing about New Yorkers; they can certainly be kind, but for the most part, they mind their own business. They don’t even blink an eye if someone decides to take their clothes off in the middle of a busy street and start shouting about the world ending. They simply go about their day and let that person do their thing.
There’s beauty in that. But there’s also pain. Because what I need now more than anything is the exact opposite of what I’d expect or normally want.
Existing as someone with a propensity for being a loner doesn’t bode well during times like these. I’m stuck inside my own head, aimlessly walking through my thoughts and replaying every single moment I’ve spent with Blake over the summer.
I think about all of our conversations and our special moments, and it feels like the worst kind of torture mentally reliving all the highs when I’m currently sitting at what feels like the rock bottom of my lows.
I’ve never felt this sad or confused or upset. And the fact that I don’t have control over my emotions, that I can’t analyze my way out of my feelings, is the biggest kick in the ass. It makes me angry and scared and anxious, and the mere idea of going back to my apartment so I can just sit in my current state of misery by myself is the very last thing I want to do.
There’s only one stop that makes sense for me to even be on the subway, and I stay rooted to my seat, my eyes downturned to my lap, until I get there.
Fifteen minutes later, I’m walking toward the brownstone I used to call home and pulling my spare key out of my purse. I unlock the door, and when I step inside, the sounds of the security alarm start to give a warning ding. I quickly head to the keypad and shut it off before dropping my purse and keys on the small catch-all table in the entryway.
I slip off my shoes and walk on bare feet down the hallway, taking the stairs that lead to the bedrooms on the second and third floors.
And when I reach my mom’s room, I carefully push open the door and find her lying in her bed by herself, completely asleep and unaware of the rest of the world.
I know my stepdad Wes is on some business trip related to the Mavericks, and he won’t be home for another two days. And while I normally love his presence, tonight, I’m silently thankful that my mom is the only one in her bed right now.
Without delay, I slide into the empty spot to her left and wrap my arms around her back, cuddling my body close to her warmth. Instantly, she stirs, turning over onto her side with groggy eyes, and she tries to focus on my face.
“Lexi?” she asks and reaches out to smooth some of my blond hair out of my face. “What are you doing here, honey?”
The softness of her voice and her gentle, motherly touch break something inside me, and I just start crying. I press my head into her shoulder, and she hugs me tightly as I let the uncontrollable tears fall down my cheeks.
“Aw, honey,” she whispers, gently rubbing my back with her hand. “Tell me what’s wrong.”
“Everything,” I whisper back, my voice strangled around my emotion.