Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 89074 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 445(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89074 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 445(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
But now it feels more like we’re both crashing inward.
Spiraling toward each other.
Whether we want to or not.
Rayne licks his finger after eating another syrupy strawberry, and I wish I was at that table to taste it on his tongue.
In my headphones, one of my favorite old songs comes on.
“Someone to Watch Over Me” by Ella Fitzgerald, sung so beautifully I swear I can feel it in my bones. I turn the volume up on my headphones as it plays.
“I hope that he turns out to be… someone who'll watch over me.”
It should be my arm around Rayne.
Let my brother watch me take what he thought was his.
I want to put my hand on Rayne’s neck and feel him exhale when he can’t help himself from craving my touch, too.
I pull in a long breath of air, and it smells like rain is going to come. I can feel my heart pounding in my chest.
Maybe I don’t care if we’re moths to a flame.
When I get obsessed with something, or someone…
I go after it, even if I know it might destroy me.
11
Rayne
A hard rapping sound against the window wakes me later that night.
I shoot up in bed, gasping for breath as I move away from the dim light coming through the window.
I’ve heard a sound like that before, and when I last heard it, I ended up with a needle sticking out the side of my neck.
For a moment I think I must have dreamed it.
The wind is gently blowing outside, and nothing’s coming through the window.
But then I turn back toward my room and I hear it again.
Plink. Plink.
Something is hitting the window, hard.
“Fuck. Fuck.”
Adrenaline hits my blood fast.
Anyone could be out there on the balcony.
I toss away the covers and run for the small walk-in closet at the other side of the room, far from the window.
I’m still bleary from sleep as I move, tripping over a case of cold brew cans I stupidly left on the floor.
My back hits the bare wall on one edge of the closet and I look back to the window.
Something hits the window again and a tiny crack forms. Shadows dance along the walls as the wind blows the tree branches outside.
I watch it crack and realize that I truly may be about to die.
And all I can think about is my mom.
I’m her only child. She worked so goddamn hard to make a good life for me. I’m the first person in my family line to go to college at all, let alone get financial aid and a scholarship into Crimson College.
And she’s about to be the mother of a dead son.
The door handle of the room suddenly jiggles, and I have to act now or I know I’ll die.
I need something to defend myself.
Hunter’s desk is beside me, right outside the closet.
I see the edge of one of his knives.
I reach up in a flash and grip the end of the knife, standing up and holding it straight out in front of me as I turn to the door.
The door of the room suddenly swings open.
And Hunter is there, staring back at me.
“You really are the one trying to kill me,” I whisper.
The knife is shaky in my hand.
I know he can see that it’s shaking, too.
I also know that I could never hurt him, even if I tried. I’m strong, but he’s quicker, and he’s used to fighting whereas I’m only used to running on a football field.
“Rayne, what’s going on?”
“I know you have something to do with it,” I say, not hiding the anger from my voice. “Whoever it is. Trying to put another dart into my neck.”
Something hits the window again.
And then, suddenly, the sound becomes constant.
A hard pattering on the window every few moments.
“There’s a hailstorm,” Hunter says.
And before I can move, he reaches out and clutches my hand, easily pulling the knife away from my grasp.
It’s in his hand now.
I look back over to the window and fear drains from my blood, replaced with shame.
It’s hail.
And now I look like a fucking paranoid freak.
“Hey,” Hunter says, tossing his knife back onto the desk with a loud clatter. He comes closer to me. “It’s okay. After what’s been happening to you, this is a normal reaction.”
My blood is hot.
I’m fucking livid at myself for being so stupid.
He puts his hand on my arm and gently rubs my skin.
I want to rip his fucking hand off.
I also want more of his touch.
I’d bolted out of bed earlier without any time to put on clothes, and now I’m in my boxer-briefs that I sleep in, feeling completely exposed.
I bat him away a moment later. “Get your fucking hands off of me.”
Something’s molten in my chest now.
A potent mix.
Rage.
Shame.
Utter exhaustion.
All churning together and somehow making me hate Hunter more than I ever have.