Total pages in book: 171
Estimated words: 170885 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 854(@200wpm)___ 684(@250wpm)___ 570(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 170885 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 854(@200wpm)___ 684(@250wpm)___ 570(@300wpm)
Couldn’t care less about that. One piece of information remained in my head.
On and off for two years.
Interesting.
Anyway, I don’t care, because I’m chilling. In the pool, floating face down. Living my best life.
I can fall asleep here. Sweet.
Though I’d probably die, and that’s not exactly convenient.
Whatever. I’ll just remain here for a bit more to relax. I sure as fuck need to stay still for a goddamn second and not entertain stupid thoughts like maybe I should go for a morning run tomorrow.
I didn’t today, because if I saw pretty Clara again, I would be tempted to ruin her features. And I never, and I mean never, get thoughts of violence about girls in general.
Mom brought me up to respect women. Cheer them on, not bring them down.
But something about that Clara…
A commotion brings me out of my peaceful contemplations that are filled with blood. Lots of blood gushing from all her fucking holes.
I lift from the water with a gasp and check my watch. Three minutes and fifty-five seconds. Not bad.
I’ve been breath training for three years now and the time I spend without breathing is improving.
Aside from riding my bike with Jeremy, this happens to be the only method that helps me wind down. Probably because I’m almost dead at that time.
There’s also brutalizing people, but that only pumps me up and doesn’t bring me down from the blood-soaked phase.
Considering my brain’s tendency to get high as a kite at unfortunate moments, I had to find a coping mechanism to counter that loud phase.
I lift myself up at the edge of our indoor pool located in the underground level of the mansion. Usually, it’s hard to hear anything when I’m here, but something’s different now.
Is it trouble? Fuck yeah.
I walk to the bench, shaking water from my hair, then use the towel to dry the haphazard strands.
I pick up my phone and pause at the notification on the top of my screen. I open it so fast, I nearly drop the phone.
So I might have been messaging Brandon on IG. You know, because I’m a goddamn pest like that.
He didn’t answer them.
For three days.
My text were along the lines of:
It’s me ;)
Nikolai, in case the handle didn’t give me away.
Wanna hang out? Like friends?
Ok, that was a lie. Being friends wouldn’t work since you’re such a delight to be around. All standoffish and grumpy and shit. The exact opposite of fun.
We could have a drink?
*GIF of a bored kid tapping the table*
We can do this all day, Prince Charming. Love talking to your inbox. What a fucking thrill.
Why do you always use the same hashtag? Is there a meaning behind that?
Why do you play lacrosse?
Can you send me your playlists that you listen to all the time? Not really into rock, but I love discovering new music.
Also, isn’t rock too extreme for your prim-and-proper image? Not that I’m judging. I actually dig the contradiction. Kinda makes it fun to try and figure you out.
Why did you want to become an artist?
Aren’t you too uptight to be into something that requires people to let go of their creativity? Or are you different when painting?
Please tell me you do that half naked. It’s blasphemous to hide beautiful bodies, you know.
Want to exchange numbers? Here’s mine XXXXXXXX.
Hello, lotus flower’s inbox, lovely to see you again this evening.
You looked hot today.
Not that I’m hitting on you or anything since you’re sooo straight.
Let’s consider this my hopeless one-sided crush on a straight guy. You don’t have to reciprocate.
Unless you want to *eyebrow wiggle emoji* *sunglasses emoji*
Yup. All good. My texts are still sitting prettily in here. Will check again later to make sure.
I sent that text two days ago, before I saw him with Clara.
I didn’t text him after that, but now, I see the first reply from him. Earlier this evening.
Stop bugging me or I’ll block you.
But he didn’t block me. He even accepted my text that was in his requests since I follow him and he obviously doesn’t follow me.
I narrow my eyes on the screen. Is there a meaning behind this?
Why would he reply days later?
Fuck this shit. Seriously. I’m losing my few remaining brain cells because of this asshole.
I put on my shorts, and yes, I was swimming naked. If any of the guys came in, well, tough shit.
When I arrive at the main hall, I’m greeted by one of my guards who my parents made follow us here. Jeremy and I use them to cause mayhem more than anything.
“Sir,” he starts with a Russian accent. “I thought you might want to know that your cousin Killian was attacked. He’s upstairs now.”
I narrow my eyes. “Upstairs, as in alive, or upstairs, as in, in his casket?”
A crease appears on his forehead and he says slowly, almost like he’s not sure, “Alive. He lost consciousness, I think.”