Total pages in book: 64
Estimated words: 59448 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 297(@200wpm)___ 238(@250wpm)___ 198(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 59448 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 297(@200wpm)___ 238(@250wpm)___ 198(@300wpm)
“It’s either this or juvenile detention for who knows how long,” Dad continues.
It dawns on me I’m not going to a place for injured people, I’m going to a place where you’re sick in the head. My parents think I’m crazy.
“It’s just twenty-four hours, you’ll be out and we can put this behind us,” Mom says, cupping my cheek, a sniffle before she feigns a smile.
A group of people in suits and scrubs are walking through the doors of the school. They’re here for me.
“Romeo, remember, Omertà Law.” Dad’s tone holds a threatening tone. I may be going to a place to help me heal in the head, but I better not even mention the things that goes on behind closed doors.
“I’m not going,” I grit. I’m not crazy, and I don’t need to go.
My mother cries, and my dad sighs, running his hands down his face. He’s a powerful man, I learned that years ago when I helped him bury a body. Surely he can stop this from happening. If anything, I should have gone to a mental institute then, I’ll never un-see that body wrapped up in a bloody white sheet.
“Dad, tell them to go away,” I grumble, looking at him impatiently.
My mother looks to him with a pale look, and he notices the stare and seems gobsmacked on what to do.
“Son, as much as I don’t need this shit right now. You have to go.” He rocks back on his shiny-ass shoes, and tears fill my eyes. He’s always going on about how we should have each other’s backs, be there, be a man, and this is what he does?
“We can fix this at home,” I tell him.
He shakes his head.
“Not this time, son.” He runs his hands across my sweaty hair and heads out of the school building.
A tall lady stops in front of me. She has a long white skirt on with a matching blouse. Her blonde hair pulled up into a tight ponytail making the skin around her eyes tight.
“You must be Romeo,” she says with the sweetest, softest voice. Bright brown eyes twinkling from the lights above.
I growl, looking up at her with a dark glare. Everyone is just staring at me, making me feel even crazier than I am.
She hunches down in front of me, her soft hand on my knee.
“We’re going to get you better, okay?” She smiles, and I use both feet in her chest, shoving her on her back. I don’t know why I did it, but I did. I don’t want her touching me, and I don’t want her help.
Her sweet demeanor quickly masks with something ugly and more suiting to her appearance. She snaps her fingers at the two large goons that followed her in and they both look at her.
“Give him the sedative and get him to the van. NOW!” Her voice ugly and high-pitched. Sedative? What’s that?
They both come at me, and I scream. Tears filling my eyes. The coach still has my arms, so I can’t grab them or run. I’m cornered.
“I’m sorry, don’t touch me. Don’t hurt me!” I scream. The coach holds my arms, and one of the goons has me by the feet. The witch wearing white, presents a case and takes out a long needle. I start bucking and hyperventilating. I hate needles.
“Romeo!” I still, the familiar voice of my brother making me look down the hall. Taking advantage of me being distracted, the sharp piercing needle is jabbed into my leg. My eyes widen from the pain, and I’m suddenly seeing two of Kieran; my brother. The only person trying to save me. He doesn’t even know what I’ve done, but he’s here… having my back. He’s trying to get to me by shoving my mother and principal, panic on his face as he shouts my name. I want to fight my way free, I want to feel regret for what I did to everyone, say I’m sorry, but my eyes are too heavy and I’m out before I can say another word.
A blood-curdling scream takes me out of my thoughts of what happened this morning, at least I think it was this morning. What time is it? I look around the room but there’s not a clock, just the opened door. Apparently I’m not too much of a threat if I’m not locked in here. I glance around the room, noticing the hospital-like bed, a window with bars, and the one fluorescent light above.
It’s bare of anything personal. Using one foot at a time, I walk toward the door. The smell of chicken and Clorox unusually strong. The sound of a TV somewhere outside the room can be heard, but I can’t make out what’s playing.
Reaching the threshold of my room, I peek to the left, seeing nothing but more doors and a window with bars at the end of the hall. I look the other way and find other people, couches with vinyl cushions, and what looks to be an office of some sort. I head that way, passing a water fountain, more closed doors, and one open. I wasn’t going to look into the opened room, but the sound of…