rupting from the mattress in a jolt of motion, I throw my fist with a yell. It crashes through the wall. Lancelot runs from the room with a shrieking pug warble. My chest heaves as I pant, the sudden instinct fading. I stare from the hole I left in the wall to my red, cracked knuckles.
Regret immediately settles in my gut. “Shit.”
I flex my hand carefully. It doesn’t feel broken. At least I threw a good punch. It’ll bruise, but it seems fine. My wall on the other hand…not so much.
Thank god my parents are out on an overnight date in Denver.
“Fuck me,” I groan.
I’ll need to fix this before they see it. I grab a poster from the opposite wall and tack it over the damage to hide it. It’ll do for now.
The need to hear Gemma’s voice right now is inescapable. I dial and press the phone to my ear.
“Pick up, pick up…”
The line clicks and my heart stutters.
“This is Gemma. Leave a message and I’ll hit you back.” Her voice is a balm I don’t deserve.
“I really fucked up,” I tell the voicemail when the tone signals. I rub my forehead. “I wish I could do today over. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
It’s nowhere near satisfactory for an apology. Pitiful, in fact. My words flee, though, and I hang up. I dial again just to hear her voice.
My sketchbook sits open on my desk, but it feels wrong to make another attempt to use it.
I don’t have to know the answer to the question running through my head when it comes to anything important in my life.
Am I good enough?
I’m pretty sure the answer is a fat fucking no.
Twenty-Nine
Gemma
The bath I took with a scented bath bomb cleared my head.
“Everything okay, honey?” Mom asks, delivering a set of folded towels to the hall closet.
“Yeah. Of course.”
I let out my hair from its bun and it falls around my shoulders. Mom steps forward and presses her hand to my face with a small frown.
“You look flushed. Your eyes are red. Are you coming down with a cold?”
I wave her off. “No, it’s just the drop in temperature. I probably spent too long in the hot water. I promise, I’m fine.”
Mom and I have never been the type of women to titter over crushes. Telling her vaguely about Matt was enough to put me off it. I’m not about to start now. I’ll handle this on my own, too. Since moving here, my parents have seemed happy. I’m not going to kill that with my drama.
Besides, what’s the point in telling her yeah, I thought I had a boyfriend again, but oops, turns out he was a big jerkface liar, so that’s over now? Not my idea of a fun time.
“Want to order from the stack of takeout places we haven’t tried yet?” She waggles her brows and it gets me to laugh. She loves takeout and has been on a mission to decide on a rotation of favorites. “I’m in the mood for curry. What about you?”
“Sure, Mom. Anything’s good.”
I check my phone when I pad into my room in a towel. There’s a few Instagram likes on my latest post and a direct message.
Thinking it’s a story share notification, I swipe to open it. I’m met with a message from an unfamiliar account.