Total pages in book: 150
Estimated words: 142818 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 714(@200wpm)___ 571(@250wpm)___ 476(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 142818 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 714(@200wpm)___ 571(@250wpm)___ 476(@300wpm)
Sariah, who had been halfway through fastening my heels on her feet when I began, blinked a couple of times with wide eyes.
Oh, fuck. I’d already pushed away the one person I felt connected to here.
“Okay,” she said mildly. “Well, we’re gonna need more booze. A lot of it,” she declared. “And then you’re gonna go into a lot more detail.” She finished fastening the shoe then got up. “Tomorrow, we’ll go and buy a fuck lot of crystals. And sage. Plus shoes.”
She walked over to me and pulled me into a hug.
She smelled of Tom Ford and expensive shampoo.
I sank into the embrace, not realizing that’s exactly what I needed.
“I hadn’t told anyone that,” I whispered into her hair.
She held me at arm’s length, regarding me. “Holy fuck. I have no idea how you haven’t exploded or like, gone deep into a Taylor Swift hole, listening to Red—her version—on repeat,” she slowly shook her head. “You’re very fucking impressive, Violet.”
“I don’t feel it.” Tears built in my eyes. “I feel like a fucking mess.”
“Well, you are,” she agreed with a smile, linking her arm in mine. “But a hot fucking mess. And, honey, everyone’s a mess on the inside. That’s why cocktails were invented. And we’re going to have many.” She winked.
She walked me into the kitchen where we did have many cocktails with our other roommates—who were also here early and who I liked a lot, but I didn’t share my story about Elden with—and I thought, maybe, just maybe, I was going to be okay.
The first few weeks in my new house passed in somewhat of a blur. Even though I’d arrived a week before classes technically started, there was a lot of unpacking, organizing, shopping and partying to do.
I’d chosen to load up on classes so I wouldn’t have time to think about things.
Though I wasn’t at all religious, I found myself truly believing that Sariah was a gift from a higher power. It was legitimately impossible to wallow around her.
She knew the gory details of everything that had happened in France and when I got back. She hated Elden in solidarity with me.
Except I didn’t hate him. Not one bit. But I got good at pretending I did.
Our other two roommates were great. Henri was Korean and a double major. Her hair was cut in a severe bob that made her look much older than she was. She came from a hideously rich family and was constantly put together in monochromatic outfits and holding a stack of textbooks. She also loved to party and was in a polyamorous relationship.
Ollie always wore a beanie and had a smattering of freckles across her face. She was a tech major who spent a lot of time in her room on her computer but also baked kickass muffins, which she did for us every morning. Mostly because she was wired from the energy drinks she’d been chugging all night while she was doing … whatever it was she did on that computer.
Our house was an eclectic mix of all of our styles … bohemian, glam, eccentric, classic. We had a chore chart, and everyone seemed to get along harmoniously even though we were all pretty different.
Sure, I was still feeling a little sorry for myself and unsure in my own skin because it still burned with the ghost of Elden’s touch. I didn’t sleep much, which was fine because there wasn’t much time for sleeping. Not with all the campus parties we had to attend because I needed to be ‘introduced’ to our year, according to Sariah, who seemed to know everyone there was to know and whom I had yet to see wear the same outfit twice.
All of her clothes, accessories and her car hinted that she, too, like Henri, had seriously loaded parents. But since mentioning them in regard to the origin of her name, she hadn’t spoken of them once. I understood that, considering I’d rather donate a kidney than speak about my father.
I hadn’t heard from him. There was no way for me to hear from him since there was no way for him to get my new number, and his was blocked. My grandmother would never give it to him. I wrote her a long letter about … well, everything. Because I wasn’t sure how to say it on the phone and because I couldn’t be sure how she’d react. I adored my grandmother. She was warm, kind and had a wicked sense of humor. My grandfather was a little more stuffy, serious, but he was one of my favorite people in the world.
Still, my father was their only son. I couldn’t imagine what it would be like to hear what a monster he truly was. I also couldn’t imagine what he was telling them in my mother’s absence.