Total pages in book: 241
Estimated words: 234779 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1174(@200wpm)___ 939(@250wpm)___ 783(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 234779 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1174(@200wpm)___ 939(@250wpm)___ 783(@300wpm)
I stand there as my composure cracks and the late summer air blows through my open window. I envision him walking through the woods, crossing our footbridge, and walking back to his house to rejoin his stupid friends.
I imagine how alone he’ll feel in a room full of people who don’t really care about him, how much worse it might be if he convinces himself I’m one of them now.
Tears slide down my face one after the other.
I want to unblock his number and text him to come back.
I want to.
But I don’t.
Chapter Thirty Six
Riley
The rest of the weekend drags by at a snail’s pace.
My first day of work is uneventful. I’m tired at the end of it, so I should be able to fall asleep, but I can’t.
I finally manage to get to sleep sometime before the sun comes up, but when my eyes open and it’s Monday morning, they burn with hatred, wishing they were someone else’s eyeballs, someone capable of sleeping like a normal human.
Exhausted, I drag myself to the bathroom.
Still nothing to reassure me I’m not pregnant, so I take a quick shower and head downstairs.
Mom hasn’t left for work yet so she’s giving me a ride this morning. I’m glad I don’t have to walk, I don’t really have the energy, but as I go through my morning routine, I’m vaguely anxious about the possibility of another flower delivery. It’s Monday morning, after all. They always come on Monday morning.
Not this Monday, apparently.
I didn’t expect them. I told myself I didn’t even hope for them, but it doesn’t feel entirely like the truth. The absence of the flowers feels like even more verification that he’s given up on me.
I guess it makes sense. I told him there was no chance. There’s no reason for him not to.
It still feels a bit disappointing.
I tell myself it doesn’t matter. I’ll get over it. I’m disappointed too, there’s just nothing either of us can do about it. He can’t go back in time and not touch Valerie, and I can’t forgive him for doing it, so we’re at an impasse.
It just hurts, that’s all.
We’ll both get over it and be fine, I’m sure.
When I get to school, I’m cautious. I don’t really know what to expect. I have no idea what happened at the party last night—I deliberately stayed off social media—but knowing Hunter’s occasional thirst for vengeance, I am worried about it. It’s the last thing I ever wanted to do, but I know I hurt him last night. It’s not outside the realm of possibility that he wanted to hurt me back.
I hope not. That’s a vicious, unending cycle I don’t want to get trapped in with him. He’s too good at hurting me. If he chooses to keep doing it, eventually he really will destroy me.
I have my guards up as I enter the school and begin the long trek to my locker.
I keep an eye out for trouble as I pass people, but it’s not like before. I don’t feel every gaze on me. A few people look, but nobody says anything. A few people even flash smiles as if we’re on friendly terms.
Hunter isn’t in English class.
I don’t expect to see him at lunch, either, but he shows up.
Uncertainty lingers in the air. The social order has been upset, and no one is clear on how to proceed. Valerie tries to sit at her usual table, but she ends up sitting at the run-off table instead. Not entirely banished, but on thin ice, I guess.
A few of the girls look over at me as I take my seat at my usual table alone. They seem to be confused as to why I’m not sitting with them today. I imagine they expected me to after Hunter was all over me in the limo last night.
Thinking about it makes me sad. Sara is still sitting at the girls’ table, so I pull out the book I brought with me and read while I eat.
The next couple of days pass in a similar fashion. Hunter shows up to class Tuesday, but Wednesday he seems to blow off school altogether because I don’t even see him at lunch.
Thursday he’s in class, but he doesn’t speak to me or even look at me. It’s like I’m invisible, but with a layer of tension that wouldn’t be there in the presence of no one.
After school is the newspaper meeting. I expect to see him there, but when everyone but him shows up, Mr. Lohman says we’re going to get started.
I keep one eye on the door for most of the meeting, so I’m distracted and certainly not contributing like I usually do. I take my time gathering my things afterward, so I’m the last student to leave.
Once the classroom is empty, I sling my bag over my shoulder and approach Mr. Lohman.