Total pages in book: 215
Estimated words: 199344 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 997(@200wpm)___ 797(@250wpm)___ 664(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 199344 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 997(@200wpm)___ 797(@250wpm)___ 664(@300wpm)
Certain it’s either the Girl Scouts, a salesman, or the antichrist coming to take me away, I brace my hand against the wall and make my way to the door. Everything seems slower now, more painful, and tiring. When I finally open the door, I find myself gaping at Cora and Abby as they stand in my open doorway with tears in their eyes.
I narrow my gaze on them, wondering what the hell they could possibly want when it hits me, they must have either been at Tarni’s house yesterday afternoon, or Tarni has already started spreading the news. I let out a heavy sigh. “Who told you?”
“Noah did,” Abby says, barely able to meet my eyes. “He broke down Tarni’s front door and kinda screamed it at us.”
Ah, so they were witness to Noah’s performance yesterday. He must have forgotten to mention that part of his grand story. “Where’s your leader?”
Abby presses her lips into a hard line. “She um . . . She couldn’t bring herself to face you after everything that went down yesterday,” she explains. “She feels like shit and hasn’t been able to get out of bed all day. But if it makes you feel any better, your friend really did a number on her. She has a black eye.”
I scoff. That actually does make me feel a little better. Though it’s almost comical that I’m the one with cancer and am a victim of her bullying, yet she can’t seem to get out of bed to face me. She has always been weak, and naturally, she’s doing her part in playing the victim. Some things will never change.
I’m glad to never have to see her again.
“Yeah, look,” Cora says. “We’re really sorry. If we knew that you were sick, we never would have—”
“Oh, this is just great,” I say, cutting her off. “Let me guess, you never would have humiliated me? Spent the last year ignoring me? Made me feel like complete shit?”
“Zoey—” Abby starts.
I shake my head. “No. What you’re trying to tell me is that if I wasn’t sick, you wouldn’t be standing here on my front doorstep trying to apologize. That your behavior is justified because you didn’t know I had cancer, like the way you’ve all treated me for the past year is somehow okay. But all you’re doing is confirming that I was right to pull away from you.”
“That’s not fair,” Cora says.
“Isn’t it?” I argue.
She shakes her head, her brows furrowing. “No. It’s not,” she says. “We were friends before any of this, for years. Doesn’t that count for anything? We were forced to pick sides, and you didn’t even seem to care.”
“I didn’t seem to care?” I scoff, needing to grip the door handle to keep from swaying. “Not one of you had my back when Noah came back into my life. You were all too busy trying to get him in bed to even care that we had history. Not to mention, you were all too self-obsessed to notice the way your behavior was killing me. So yeah, you know what? You’re right. I didn’t care about reconnecting with you. Once Noah helped me see that I was worth so much more than all of your bullshit, I didn’t even want to try.”
“You really hate us that much?” Abby questions, looking as though I just slapped her across the face.
“Honestly, I really don’t know,” I tell her. “I was willing to try again and reconnect with you both after you gave me a lift home from that lake party last summer. But in the end, what it comes down to is that you were terrible friends to me, and I’m not comfortable being forced to accept an insincere apology because you’re trying to clear your conscience before I die. It’s not my responsibility to bear the weight of your shitty decisions and behavior. If you want forgiveness, then earn it. Be good people, and don’t treat the next girl who needs help like shit.”
“So, that’s it, huh?” Cora questions. “You’re just going to die and leave things like this between us?”
“Yeah. I think this is what we call living with the consequences of your actions,” I say, reaching back to the entryway table to grab my car keys before stepping out of the house and locking the door behind me. “But let me put this into perspective for you. You just told me that you’re aware I’m dying, and not once have you asked me how I’m feeling, how my chemotherapy was, or if there’s even a chance that I might pull through. All you care about is how it affects you. But guess what? I am dying, and my time on this earth is limited, and the last thing I want to do is spend what little time I have left catering to your selfishness. I’m not interested.”