“Kim pretended to have a fever so she could escape you today. She’s not even answering my calls or texts.”
Ronan glares at me as if to say, ‘I told you so.’
I resist the urge to flip him off. “As I was saying, I’m not her guardian.”
“Then stop confusing her, damn it,” Elsa snaps. “Leave her alone so she can pick up her life without you polluting it.”
“Too bad you don’t get to tell me what to do.” I wave at them. “I’m out of here.”
“You’re just a coward!” Elsa shouts at my back. “You’ll never deserve her.”
I glance at her over my shoulder as Aiden holds her in place with both arms around her stomach while she struggles to be set free to no avail.
“We agree on that,” I say, and then I’m out in the night.
The cold air causes goosebumps to erupt over my skin. My face turns numb and the freezing air seeps to my bones.
I stop in front of my car, retrieve a joint, and light it. The smoke is like an instant tranquiliser. I close my eyes for a bit, savouring the pungent taste.
My options are either to drink or to fight.
Or I can do both at the same time.
After all, I’m on a limited time until I’m shipped off to where Dad sees fit. I’m eighteen and could leave on my own, but where would I go?
Maybe it’s the thought of being alone that grates on my skin more than the lack of the luxurious life.
I can see myself ten years from now, partying and fighting and drinking. Or maybe I won’t be alive ten years from now, because I’ll get myself killed in one of those fights.
Or because of drowning my liver in alcohol.
My phone vibrates.
I leave the joint in my mouth as I retrieve it.
The thing in my chest picks up speed immediately. It’s as if I’m in a bleak world and then she barges in like a spark.
A spark I’ve been slowly killing – while also killing myself.
It’s a text message.
Kimberly: I wish you were never my friend. I wish you had never told me you’d be there for me. I wish you didn’t know so much about me and still chose not to be with me. I wish there was never me or you or us.
My lips part and the joint nearly falls to the ground as I read and re-read the text.
No.
No, she didn’t.
I hit her name and call her. She doesn’t pick up. I kick the car and don’t stop to think about the pain as I type.
Xander: Pick up the fucking phone, Kimberly.
No answer.
Xander: I don’t wish I didn’t meet you. I never did.
Still nothing.