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)
Damn it.
I knew transferring to East View High and seeing her again was going to screw with my resolve. Zoey James is not mine anymore. I tore her to shreds, and I sure as hell don’t have the right to think about her like this or want her in a way I never have before. Especially considering the way I’ve hurt her.
Being back here, surrounded by the walls that hold so many of our childhood memories, has brought a surge of nostalgia swirling within me. This is where I first realized how deeply I loved her. It’s where I stood out in the yard as a seven-year-old boy and got down on one knee, proposed to her, and told her she was the most beautiful girl I ever knew. We were only playing then, but there was such a profound truth to those words. Not the proposal bit, but the part about Zoey being beautiful. She always has been. Undeniably so.
Officially, I haven’t been here in over three years. Unofficially, I’ve snuck through Zoey’s bedroom window more times than I care to admit. Usually only when things are at their worst, or when I feel like I’m about to spiral. I come here and sit in her room, and by the time I leave, I feel grounded again, as if just being closer to her could somehow make everything better. Not that I’ll be telling her that.
Fuck, had she caught me during those dark moments, or if I had set my eyes upon her and seen that light that always seems to shine so brightly, I know I would have crumbled.
There have been a few times where I’ve sat on the roof outside her bedroom window as she slept, staring out at the street, refusing to peer in at the broken girl inside. I know she feels like I’ve put this distance between us, and she’s right, I have, but in some way, I’ve always been right here, she just never knew it.
My fingers continue drumming against the table as I refuse to break our stare. With every passing second, it feels as though that invisible string between us pulls just a little bit tighter, but soon enough, it’s bound to snap.
Irritation burns through me. I hate that just the sight of her is screwing with my head. I’m trying to keep her at arm’s length, not draw her back in. There’s a reason I pushed her away, and despite how every last piece of me is screaming to have her back in my arms, I need to keep this distance. Her father was right on Friday night. I’m a troubled kid. I’m heading down a path I won’t be able to claw my way back from, and I refuse to drag her down with me. The darkness has consumed me, and while she shines brighter than any star in the sky, my darkness will drown her.
Tension rolls off me, and the longer I relentlessly hold her stare, the faster her resolve begins to crumble. There’s a silent challenge lingering in the air between us, but neither of us is willing to say a word or give in. She never could handle the intensity of my stare. I have to give it to her though, she’s putting in a good effort.
The sound of cutlery against the plates mixes with the conversation flowing around the table. I don’t miss the way Zoey just sits there, letting her food go cold, too preoccupied with this current battle for dominance that seems to be going down between us.
When she stole my car after school, she turned this disastrous game into a cold-blooded battle, and if that’s the way she wants to play, then so be it. I’m not afraid to get my hands dirty. The only question is, can she handle it?
Zoey blindly reaches in front of her, closes her hand around her glass of water, and lifts it to her lips. Just as she tips the glass and takes a sip, I lift my foot under the table and brace it against her chair, right between her knees. She sputters into her water, her eyes widening before she chokes and breaks her stare.
“Oh, honey,” Erica rushes out, gently clapping her hand on Zoey’s back and rushing in with napkins to mop up the spilled water. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” Zoey says, her glare sharpening back on me as she reaches between her legs and shoves my foot off the end of her chair, then she goes as far as to use her feet to kick me even further away. “Must have gone down the wrong way.”
It’s almost ironic. Three years ago, we used to do the exact same thing, only the looks we were secretly giving one another across the table were very different. Either way, I think it’s clear to say I’ve won this round. And to think just how easy it was.