Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 84289 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 421(@200wpm)___ 337(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84289 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 421(@200wpm)___ 337(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
“Merry Christmas,” I tell him.
The faint glow of the big Christmas lights outside the house comes in from the edges of my window shades.
Already, each time I blink, I feel like I could fall asleep again.
And Niko is behind me.
In this bed.
Right there.
I feel the weight of his arm land around the side of my body under the covers. I feel like my bones are made of lead, but every cell in my body wishes I could just force myself to be more awake, to be with him every moment that I can.
I want to turn over toward him.
I want him to hold me in his arms like this while I kiss him, endlessly.
I want to freeze time and fuck him, over and over, and then let him do it to me, too.
Something sparks inside me, even as I’m half-asleep, some part of me hopes he doesn’t stop touching me.
But a few minutes later I hear his breathing even out, and I know he’s dozing off just as much as I am.
No.
If I sleep, this is just another day that ends.
Another day closer to January. When all of this will be over.
The sound of a slamming door jars me awake rudely some time later, and as I squint my eyes open, I see that it’s not even daylight yet.
I look at my alarm clock and see that it’s 4:39 in the morning.
I’m even more tired than I was before, my body still trying to sink back into sleep.
But then I hear the low tone of Dad’s voice coming from downstairs.
“I don’t fucking care!” I hear Emily shout.
And something hardens in my chest.
Niko moves on the bed next to me, and I turn over to see him squinting up at me.
“What’s going on?” Niko asks.
A door slams again louder this time, and a heavy sinking feeling fills my chest. “It’s Emily. Fuck. I’ll be back.”
I tug on a pair of thick sweatpants and toss a white T-shirt on before heading downstairs.
I see my dad at the kitchen table in a flannel robe, and behind his glasses he looks just as tired as I feel.
And the expression on his face is grim.
“What happened?” I ask.
“Just go back to bed, sweetie,” Mom’s raspy voice comes from behind me. She comes in from the door that leads to the backyard, and a chill gust of air follows her inside.
“What’s happening with Emily?”
I’ve never seen my mom look sadder in my life.
“Your sister came back from Cheyenne’s house and I was downstairs getting a glass of water,” Mom says. “She smelled like cigarettes. And the moment I spoke to her, it was clear that she’s… she’s blackout drunk.”
My heart feels like a stone in my chest.
“Emily?” I ask.
My sister only recently turned 16.
And for my entire life, Emily was the picture-perfect kid. Better than me and Aaron, by far. She got perfect grades. She was kind and sweet. She volunteers at a community garden where my mom is a member, and she’s planning on applying to Harvard and Yale.
How could things have changed that much since I left for college?
A tear falls from Mom’s eye and I walk over, wrapping my arms around her in a hug.
“Hey. It’s going to be okay. I’ll go talk to her.”
“There’s no talking to Em right now,” Dad says. “Apparently Cheyenne slipped a bottle of vodka from her grandmother’s house, and…”
“Oliver.”
I turn and see Niko in the archway that leads to the kitchen.
He’s put on black sweatpants and a crisp white hoodie, and he frowns at me, his hair still in a messy swoop from sleep.
He looks perfect.
And I don’t want him to be bothered by any of this.
“I’m sorry, Niko. It’s my sister. You can go back upstairs.”
“Is Emily okay?”
“Teenage woes,” my dad says, trying to offer Niko a polite smile.
The backyard door swings open again a moment later and Emily steps inside.
My stomach drops when I see her. Her black eye makeup is running in rivulets down her cheeks. There are scratches along her arm.
And she has a cigarette in one hand, bringing it to her lips to take a drag as she walks into the kitchen.
“Get that out of the house. Are you out of your mind, Emily?” Dad says, standing up and walking over to her.
“Ask me if I fucking care,” she says, slurring her words.
“Em,” I say softly. “Christ. Come with me.”
I walk over toward the living room and grab a blanket, heading back over to the kitchen. It smells like smoke in here now, and I pull the cigarette from her hand and toss it into the sink. I wrap the blanket around her shoulders as she protests.
“And here’s Ollie,” she says in a low tone. “Back home just in time to see us fucking falling apart. You going to tell him, Mom? Or should I?”