I cower a step back.
She lets out a dark sounding chuckle. “Your lookalike might have survived, but I promise you, you won’t. Don’t push me.”
“Yes, Ma’am,” I whisper, just wanting her to leave.
She slams the door shut, and I wait a couple of minutes before I sink down on the edge of my bed.
The emotions from tonight gush to the surface, and no matter how hard I fight to keep them in, tears spill over my cheeks.
Why?
Why is life so hard?
Why did I get her for a mother?
I cover my mouth with my hands to smother the cry. Sinking down to the floor, I bring my knees to my chest and huddle in a small ball.
I can’t do this anymore.
I don’t want to live if this is all my life is ever going to be.
I just… can’t.
Nothing in life is worth all this pain.
The sound of my phone pinging yanks me out of the dark pit of despair. I climb to my feet and pick up the device where it’s lying next to my bed.
There’s a message from an unknown number. Tapping on the screen, my lips part as I read the text.
‘When you reach the end of your rope, tie a knot in it and hang on.’ – Franklin D. Roosevelt.
Remember to add my number to your contact list. I meant what I said, call if you need anything. My house is number 29. Colton.
Shock shudders through me.
Holy crap, the quotes were from Colton?
I stand frozen for the longest time, reading the words again and again, but they only make confusion rattle through me.
Why would Colton message me? Or come to my house?
An awful thought creeps into the back of my mind.
Maybe he’s pretending to be friendly, and once I let my guard down, he’ll hurt me, just like Sully and Michael.
“Why is your light still on?” Mom yells as she walks by my room. I rush to the switch and turn off the light. Standing in the dark, I worry my bottom lip, listening to the sounds on the other side of the door. When I hear her’s slam shut, I let out a relieved breath and climb in bed. I reread the message.
It’s probably a prank.
It won’t be the first time. During my junior year, Danny Gordon pretended to be interested in me. I fell for it, and everyone laughed at me.
I don’t want to go through that again.
Walking into English, I keep my head down and grip my sketchpad tightly.
I sit down and let my long hair fall between the class and me. When I hear Colton sit down at his desk, I cringe closer to the wall.
I’ve been dreading this moment all morning. Usually, I’m on the lookout for Sully or Michael, but not today. Not knowing what Colton’s intentions are, has my stomach knotted with nerves.
Mrs. Ramsey begins with the lesson, and I itch to work on my sketch, but not wanting to draw Colton’s attention to me, I keep as still as I can.
I’ve been replaying last night over in my mind, and I just can’t understand why he came to my house, or how he even knew where I lived.
And the quotes? Do they have a double meaning I’m missing? Are they threats?
I need to read them again. My knee starts to jump under the table as the minutes slowly tick by. When the bell finally rings, my nerves are shredded.
I grab my stuff and run out of the class. I dart into the nearest restroom and hide in the first available stall.
I dig through my bag for the two quotes, and my eyes race over the words.
Is he saying he’s going to make me feel inferior? That I should fear him? I open the text, and a frown forms on my forehead.
I don’t get it.
Feeling miserably apprehensive, I shove the scraps of paper back in my bag. I have to get to class. The last thing I need right now is detention for being late.
I make it in the nick of time and take my seat. Mr. Matthews begins droning on about things I’ll never understand.
Math feels twice as long, and after getting next to no sleep last night and all the worry, it’s hard to keep my eyes open. I rest my forehead on the palm of my hand and spend the entire lesson alternating between dozing off and jerking awake.
A hand shakes my shoulder, and my eyes fly open. I dart up and squeeze my body against the wall.
“Class is over,” Colton says, then he walks up the aisle.
It’s only then I notice everyone is leaving. I gather my stuff while willing my heartbeat to slow down.
At this rate, I’ll die of a heart attack long before I can end things myself.
COLTON
Brie’s a mess, and it makes me worry that I made things worse for her at home.
The way she reacted when I woke her after math has been haunting me all day long. Growing up with an abusive father, I’ve felt my fair share of fear and saw it living in Brady’s eyes every day, but the look on Brie’s face… that was something else.
When I take my seat in history, I tear a page from my notebook and write the math homework down for Brie, in case she didn’t get it. Folding the paper in half, I stretch over and place it on Brie’s desk.
Her eyes dart to me for a split-second before they turn to the paper, staring at it as if it’s a snake. She sucks in a deep breath then reads it. A frown forms on her forehead, and she seems confused.
Maybe she struggles with math?
Mr. Donati walks down the aisle, dropping the graded papers on our desks. When he gets to mine, he says, “Great essay, Colton. Come see me after class.”
I expected as much. I nod, and when he moves on to the next aisle, I glance at the A+ in bold red at the top of the paper, but it offers me no satisfaction.
An A+ for the hell I went through.
A bitter sigh escapes my lips.
An A+ for Brady killing himself.
I’ll never understand how things work in this world.
My gaze drifts over to Brie’s desk, and I see she got a B- right before she slips the paper under her sketchpad.
Once Mr. Donati is done handing back all the essays, he gives us our homework for the day then starts with the lesson.
Brie’s knee starts to jump under her desk, and it once again distracts me. I turn my head slightly in her direction and see that she’s tense as hell. There so much anxiety pouring off of her.
I remember feeling like that, knowing the school day was at an end, and I had to go home and face him.
An overwhelming need to help her grows in my chest.
The bell rings, and I’m ripped back to the present. I gather my stuff and make my way to the front of the class while the other students clear out.
Mr. Donati waits until we’re alone, then he takes a seat on the edge of his desk and smiles at me. I’ve heard the girls talking, and I’m pretty sure half the class has a crush on him.
“How are you holding up?” he asks.
“I’m fine,” I give the automatic response everyone expects.
His blue eyes sharpen on me as he nods, and it gives me the impression he sees right through the lie. “My door is open any time you need to talk, Colton.”
“Thanks.”
I turn away to leave, but then he says, “None of that should have happened. I’m sorry it did.”
His words hit so hard, I struggle to get air into my lungs. It’s the first time anyone said sorry, and I didn’t expect the words to hurt so much.
It’s because they’re from the wrong person.