Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 76780 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 384(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76780 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 384(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
“I’m going to take a piss and call my brother,” Zak grumbles. “Anyone need to go?”
Cormac holds up a hand, scooting off his stool to follow after Zak, disappearing into the pulsing crowd. Cameron sidles up next to me.
“Zak said you’ve been sad lately. You okay? This about Hank?”
The fun from the night drains away, sucking all color from the world around me. No more red. No more colorful, dancing bodies.
Darkness.
It eats away at the edge of my vision, making my head throb in time with the beat of the bass. Absently, I rub at my temple, squeezing my eyes shut.
Cameron clutches my shoulder. “Hey, man. I’m sorry. I just wanted to tell you that you can talk to me.”
Everyone wants to talk.
I just want everyone to shut the hell up.
“I can’t breathe.” I slide off the stool. “I need air.”
“Want company?”
“No!” I bark out. “I mean…I’m okay.”
He frowns at me, pity shining in his blue eyes. I force a smile out and then rush out of the building. The bouncer stamps my hand so I can reenter when I’m done feeling sorry for myself. As soon as I hit the icy air, I long for the coat that I left in Zak’s car. Wrapping my arms around myself, I shiver and huddle near the brick wall of the building.
Further down the street, a group of guys stands outside Martha Joy’s seafood restaurant smoking and laughing. I lean my ass against the wall, staring up at the cloudy sky. It smells like snow. I know I’ve been living in Brigs Ferry Bay too long when I know what snow smells like.
“Hey!” a voice calls out.
Jerking my head toward the sound, I frown at the group of guys strutting my way. The slight collective stagger in their step alludes to the fact they’ve been drinking. Something about their approach has the hairs on my arms standing on end and it has nothing to do with the cold.
I should turn and go inside, but I’m not keen on putting my back to them when they’re this close. Maybe they just want a light or something. I give them a nod in greeting but then go back to staring up at the sky.
“What the fuck is he wearing?” one of the guys mutters, which has the rest of them cackling like goddamn hyenas.
The leader of the pack stops laughing first as he comes to stand right in front of me. Cold, dark eyes lock onto mine.
“Are you a bitch?”
My lip curls up in disgust. “What?”
The guy runs his tongue over his teeth. “Bitches wear makeup so you must be a bitch.”
I glower at him, refusing to reply to that comment.
“Know what bitches also do?” He laughs cruelly. “Bitches suck dick. Is that what you want? To suck my dick?”
His cronies laugh, egging the dumbass on.
“Fuck off,” I mutter.
I start to edge away, but the guy grabs hold of my red holey shirt and shoves me hard against the brick. My head knocks against the hard surface, making my headache come roaring back with a vengeance.
This guy isn’t much older than me, but he’s built like Cameron and Zak. His friends are closer to his size than mine. I’m about to get fucked up by a gang of jocks.
What is it about me that invites trouble?
Is the red eyeliner really that offensive?
Jesus fucking Christ.
“Fuck. Off.” I spit out each word, not backing down from the guy’s evil glare.
“You’re the kid who got Coach Townsend put away,” the guy sneers. “You’re not very popular around here. Coach was cool as fuck. He has kids, man. You did this to him. Sent him away because you had to come on to him.”
“Jeremy, dude,” one of his friends says, “not here.”
I try to shake Jeremy off, but his grip is too tight.
“Not here?” Jeremy demands. “Maybe if we colored the sidewalk with his blood, they’d close this sick dance club down for good. It’d be one helluva warning to the rest of his butt buddies.”
Jeremy is suddenly jerked away from me. He cries out as he’s thrown to the ground. A beast of a man pounces on him.
Everything’s a blur in front of Blur.
Except for bright, yellow letters.
BFB PD.
Jeremy’s arms are wrenched behind his back, and a glint of silver locks can be seen around each of his wrists. The growled words the cop spits out at him are his Miranda rights. I’m stunned, unable to take my eyes from the yellow letters.
Yellow.
Like golden fields of wheat.
Corn.
Butter.
Lemons.
Bright and wholesome and eye-catching.
Brilliant.
I want to capture it in my hands. Stroke the soft colored pencil lead across the paper, leaving a trail of happiness. Of gratitude. Of joy.
The yellow is safety.
Warmth.
The cop jerks the cuffed idiot to his feet. It’s then I’m aware his cronies abandoned him. It’s just the three of us.