Текст книги "Reveal"
Автор книги: Elle Brooks
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Текущая страница: 16 (всего у книги 16 страниц)
Present
I SEE A car pull into the drive from my spot on the sofa. It’s a quarter after one and I’m finishing up my calculus homework before I head over to see Emily. My stomach drops as I see the person getting out of the mystery car—Em’s nurse.
I close my laptop and make my way to the front door to greet her, feeling as though I’m on autopilot. My whole body is full of dread as I open the door and make eye contact with a very somber-looking Carla.
“I’m afraid I have some sad news, Blair. Maybe we should go inside so you can sit down.”
I realize I’m just standing in the doorway unable to move; I haven’t even said hello. I’m not sure that I trust my voice not to break if I speak. There’s only one reason she would be here.
My hands immediately start to feel sweaty and a knot forms in my throat, restricting the amount of air I can take in and it feels as if my lungs are about to combust.
“She’s died, hasn’t she?”
All I can focus on is that I wasn’t there for her. I was supposed to go see her last night but I had so much schoolwork I put it off until this afternoon. Nurse Carla takes my clammy hand in hers and squeezes ever so slightly, her expression grim and full of sorrow.
“Yes, sweetie, she died yesterday at home where she wanted to be, with her family. I’m so, so sorry, Blair.”
The sob that I’ve been trying like hell to hold onto is ripped out of me and I gasp for a breath while Carla leads me back into the living room. I feel like I’m about to crumble as I make my way across the room and over to the fireplace mantle that’s decorated with pictures of my best friend and me.
I feel my brain suddenly kick back into gear as I register what she just said.
“She died yesterday, when?” I tense and wait for her answer. My best friend could have been dead for twenty-four hours and I’ve been sitting here reading calculus textbooks none the wiser. I’m so mad but I don’t know where to place my anger, at my math teacher for giving out extra homework, at the Wilson’s for not calling me and letting me know it was time, or at myself. I should have visited her yesterday like I was supposed to. Now it’s too late.
“It was just before midnight, she went peacefully and she wouldn’t have been in any pain.”
I hadn’t even thought about that. I take a deep breath and feel my shoulders relax a little.
“She’s dead,” I say to myself, and then look up into Nurse Carla’s eyes. They’re filled with unshed tears. I’m sure this isn’t the first time she’s had to deliver this kind of news, but I don’t suppose it gets any easier.
I can hear the next-door neighbor’s little girls playing in the yard. They remind me of Emily and me, They’re always laughing, and normally it makes me smile, but today I want to shout at them to stop. There’s no reason to laugh right now, no reason to smile. For them it’s just another day. Not for me, though. I know with absolute certainty that whenever I look back on today, I’ll be reminded of the loss of my best friend. It will all be tucked away neatly in my mind, every last excruciating detail.
“Sweetie, is your mom at work? Should I call her, so she can come be with you?”
I drop my head and squeeze my eyes tight, hoping to stop the steady flow of tears that seem to be escaping despite my best efforts.
“No, I’m fine. There’s no need to call her. I’m eighteen, not twelve, it’s not like I wasn’t expecting Emily to die, I knew it was coming.”
“Just because you were expecting it, Blair, doesn’t mean that it won’t still affect you. She was your best friend.” She sighs and carries on. “I told Emily’s mom that I would come and tell you. The Wilson’s are obviously very upset, but Pam wanted me to give you this.”
She holds out a pink envelope, with ‘Blair’ scribbled across the front in purple ink, a heart dotting the I in my name. It’s Emily’s handwriting; if the heart didn’t give it away, the purple ink would have. She only wrote in purple—I’m not sure that I ever asked her why, and now I can’t.
I take the envelope from Nurse Carla and thank her for dropping by to tell me. It feels kind of ironic to thank someone for just breaking your heart. I really need her to leave so that I can process what’s happened. She attempts to give me an awkward hug and then sees herself out. I watch her wave from the car as she pulls out of my drive, I’m still frozen to the spot at the fireplace, watching her through the window, sure that my heart will shatter if I move.
Three Months Later
I SIT STARING at the unopened envelope pinned onto my notice board above the desk in my room. It’s filled with pictures of Emily and me through the years. There are pictures of us from grade school with braces and no front teeth; pictures of us at the mall in one of those photo booths, pulling stupid faces and giving our best pout; stalker pictures of Emily in the halls by Ethan Jamison’s locker, Ethan in the background having no idea we were trying to take pictures of him. I lean back in my desk chair and crack my knuckles, stretching out my arms above my head. I’m going to do it. The thought makes me feel sick and dizzy, I can feel my eyes start to prick with tears. I let out a sigh.
“Get a freaking grip, Blair, it’s just a letter,” I say aloud.
I unpin it from the board, shaking so much that my name in all its purple ink glory is blurring into the pink of the envelope. I want to read it. I need to read it. It’s been haunting me for the past three goddamn months. Only I know, once I finally do open it, that’s it. That’s the last thing I’ll ever have from Emily. I know I need to just do it, but it hurts, it hurts so damn much that I want to scream.
I take a calming breath, roll my shoulders and carefully open the envelope and pull the letter out, sending a ton of pink glitter and purple heart confetti soaring into the air. It rains down over me, covering my desk and bedroom floor. I’m gonna be sparkly for a month. I hate glitter. Emily knew that, it’s no oversight. The thought makes me smile; she knew she’d be pissing me off. I unfold the paper and stare down at her handwriting, attempting to focus on the words.
Blair,
If you’re reading this then I’ve obviously croaked it. Lol! I know it’s not funny but I kinda have to make a joke of it, so that what I’m writing doesn’t feel so real, you know? I’m writing this letter to you after just finishing the one I’ve written for my mom and dad. I need to lighten the mood, so I’m gonna confess something. I can say it now because I’m not here anymore and there’ll be no retaliation. It’s a cheap trick, but you know you love me.
Last year when Corey Spencer asked you out, and then cancelled on you at the last minute, I may or may not have accidentally told him that you used to write Mrs. Blair Spencer and practice your signature at the back of your journal. And I may have also told him that you had your kids’ names picked out already. I know, I know, I totally freaked him out! I thought he’d laugh and tease you about it on your date, but I guess he kinda thought you were a bunny boiler and bailed. Sorry!!!
Okay, so now that I have that off my chest, I need you to do something for me and you can’t say no, because it’s a dying girl’s wish! Yeah, I know, I played the dying BFF card. But please, just think about it.
So, I have a bucket list. Totally morbid and cliché, but never mind. Last year when I was told the cancer wasn’t going away I listed all the things that I wanted to do before I take my Long Sleep. I didn’t tell you or Mom because I wanted something that was just mine, that I’d achieved, and I managed to cross a few of them off. You were actually with me for most of them, but not all of them, and that’s where I need your help.
I figured that there has to be something after this life, right? This can’t just be it; at least I hope this isn’t just it. If there is such a thing as reincarnation and I can still visit you or see you from my cloud (yep, I’m totes gonna spend my days laying out on clouds), then if you finish my list it would be like me getting to experience it. I know it sounds crazy but hear me out. You’re the closet person to me. My mom always says we’re practically the same girl with different hair. And if it were the other way around, I would do this for you. I’d complain and bitch about it, but I would still do it.
My list is attached. I know what I’m asking is probably unfair, but you know how I hate not finishing something I started, be it homework or cheesecake. Lol! So, #10 is a ridiculous ask—you really don’t have to do that—but a kiss would suffice. :-) I really wish I’d made a play for that hot piece of ass.
Anyway, if you decide you can’t, don’t worry, I won’t haunt you. I love you more than the stars.
You’re the most awesome friend a girl could ever have wished for. I have so many awesome memories and every one of them includes you. You have been my shoulder to cry on, my punching bag, literally and verbally. You made me feel happy when I didn’t think there was anything to be happy about, and I’m gonna miss you the most. You’re like the other half of me, the Bert to my Ernie, the peanut butter to my jelly!!!
I love you, Blair. I always will.
Emily xoxo
P.S. You would have totally been my maid of honor when I finally married Ethan Jamison and had a billion of his sexy ass babies.
I feel my cell vibrate and I don’t have to look at the screen to know it’s Mom. The only other person who ever called was Emily. I don’t have many friends, or ones who call me, anyway. Emily and I were practically joined at the hip; she was the cool, outgoing one and I was the shy, awkward one.
She was the person everyone gravitated towards, drawing people in like moths to a flame. You couldn’t help but notice her light. Since she’s been gone, Casey and Brie have made several attempts to get me to hang out but it just feels too weird without Emily being there as my buffer. They were always more her friends than mine. We have zero in common without Emily.
“Hey,” I answer.
“Hi, honey, I’m on my way home from the office now, dropping by the store. Is there anything you need me to pick up?”
She sounds entirely too freaking happy for my mood at the moment.
“No Mom, I’m good, I’m just studying, so I’ll see you when you get back.” My voice sounds all scratchy from crying and I know she’ll call me out on it, so I press end on the call before she gets a chance.
That leaves me about forty minutes to get my shit together before she’s home. I quickly fold the letter and put it in my desk drawer before heading to the bathroom to wash my face, and hopefully gain some perspective on what the hell I just read.
I can hear pots and pans banging in the kitchen as I step out of the shower, which means Mom must be making dinner. I’m starving and right on cue my stomach rumbles. I head to my room, dry off and pull on a pair of yoga pants and my bright green t-shirt that says ‘Mathletes’ across the chest. I study myself in the mirror; my long brown hair is a matted wet mess that’s soaking the back of my shirt so I quickly tie it in a messy bun on top of my head. I’m slim and relatively short. Five feet five inches actually, which isn’t tiny, but considering my mom’s five eleven and my dad was six two, you’d think I’d be taller.
I used to think that maybe I was adopted, but then as I got older, I started to really look like my mom, minus the height. We are both ridiculously pale skinned, with dark brown hair and the same big almond-shaped green eyes, although mine are always hidden beneath my glasses. I have contacts but prefer to wear glasses; poking myself in the eye every day to put in and take out contacts is a pain in the ass.
Mom shouts up that dinner’s ready and I make my way downstairs to say hello. I walk into the kitchen and she’s sitting at the island, two plates of mac and cheese and a half drunk bottle of wine in front of her. There was none open when I came down to get a drink earlier, and she’s only been home about twenty minutes. Guess she’s on a mission to get wasted. Don’t get me wrong—she’s a good mom, but since dad died about three years ago, there’s not many nights that she’s not half cut. I make a point of not talking about it, and she’s happy to ignore the fact that she’s not gonna find the answer to her problems at the bottom of a bottle. It’s a pretty messed-up situation. We can talk about almost anything else, just not that. Emily was the only person I ever used to talk to about it. Hell, I miss her.
“HERE, TRY THIS, it’ll help,” my mom says, passing me an ice pack for my jaw. When dad saw my report card and noticed I wasn’t pulling straight A’s he was more than a little pissed at me.
“He’s under a lot of pressure at work, sweetheart; you know that. He has high expectations for you about college, Ethan.”
Yet again she’s making excuses for him; it’s her forte. She can’t look me in the eye while she says it, though. I knew he’d be pissed at me for failing math, but I was still stupid enough to mutter under my breath that it was ‘my life’. He heard that and lost his shit real quick. He doesn’t normally hit me in the face because it draws attention. I normally get beaten where the bruises can be hidden. I could fight back, I’m big enough to take him, but I don’t. I just stand there completely numb and take it. I’m pretty sure it would kill my mom to see us beating the shit out of each other. So, I suck it up and tell myself I’ll be out of here soon.
I pull my car into my usual spot in the school lot and check the rearview mirror to inspect the bruise that’s starting to form across my jaw. I notice Jackson and TJ making their way over to my Camaro. I sigh and grab my backpack from the passenger seat; I could really do without school today.
“Yo Ethan my man, where the hell have you been all weekend?” TJ hollers, coming to a standstill beside my car.
“Dude, what the hell happened to your face?” Jackson cuts in.
I shoot him a look that says ‘shut the fuck up’, and then shrug and tell them I was hit in the face while shooting hoops. TJ looks like he buys it but Jackson’s been my best friend since kindergarten. He knows my dad’s a prick, and I’m pretty sure he’s put two and two together over the years. But he also knows not to ask me about it. I grab my jacket from the backseat, slam the car door closed, and we make our way across the parking lot and head into school with the usual group of girls clamoring around us. There are definite perks to being in a band, but having girls constantly trying to claim the title of girlfriend gets old fast. It seems the less interested I am, the more interested they become.
“Hey, Ethan,” Brie says, coming to stand next to my locker.
Brie’s hot but she knows it and it’s a total turn off, she’s your stereotypical head cheerleader–blonde hair, long legs and lip-gloss. I’d tell her to take a hike, but she’s wearing a tiny excuse of a shirt with her boobs pushed up on display, and I’m a guy, after all.
“Hey, what’s up?” I say to her tits rather than to her face.
“I hear you’re having trouble in Professor Hillman’s class, and I just wanted to let you know I’m totally available if you need help studying.” She says this in a whiney voice that I’m assuming she means to be sexy, while running her hand down my arm. I shrug away from her reach and lift my gaze from her tits to answer her.
“Thanks for the offer, Brie, but I’m pretty sure we wouldn’t get much studying done.” I wink and push off my locker, heading down the hall before she has time to reply. Jackson jogs up beside me, laughing.
“Dude, what’s wrong with you? Why the hell aren’t you tapping that?”
“I’ve seen her outside my house a few times, I think she follows me,” I say shrugging. “Plus her voice is like a cheese grater to me, man, and I bet she’s a screamer.” I laugh as we head to first period.
I walk into the cafeteria to grab lunch; I’m late because Hillman held me back to tell me that I’m fucking useless at math. He gave me the number of some nerd I’m supposed to call about tutoring. Apparently she’s agreed to help me for extra credit or some shit, I don’t know. It’s gonna be awkward as hell. I grab a sandwich and bottle of water and head over to sit with the guys.
It’s your typical high school clique seating plan: the Emos and Goths sit at the far back corner of the cafeteria, looking…well, depressed; the Nerds and Band Geeks sit a little ways in front of them; then it’s your average students that just want to fit in; then the Jocks and Cheerleaders, and then us. I sit with the rest of the members of our band, Kickstart. It just happens that Jackson is also a jock, volleyball player by day, drummer by night. Our table usually has a weird mix of musicians and jocks.
“Dude, move over.” I push Jackson along the bench seat so I can sit at the end of the table.
“What did Hillman want, E?”
I look over to Drew, ready to reply, but he’s already lost focus and is now pulling his girlfriend Dannii on his lap, burying his head into her neck. Drew’s a good-looking kid, but it’s taken a while for him to grow into those looks. Dannii is hot and knows it. He thinks he’s punching above his weight, even though since we’ve started playing more gigs he has girls throwing themselves at him. If you ask me, it’s the other way around: Dannii is the one punching above her weight. Drew’s a great guy.
“Yo, get a room!” TJ shouts and then whips his head back in my direction. “Yeah man, what did Hillman want?”
“He gave me a number to organize some tutoring, says I need to bring my grades up or he’s failing me.”
“How you gonna fit that in with practice? Steve will shit a brick if you start missing them!”
I sigh and talk around a huge chunk of sandwich.
“Gonna have to squeeze it in on a week night, I guess.”
“Sucks to be you, man,” Jackson pipes in.
Yeah, it really does fucking suck to be me. I pull out my cell and tap out a message to the number Professor Hillman gave me.
To: Tutor Nerd
Hi,
Professor Hillman gave me your number to contact you about math tutoring.
Ethan.
I slide the cell back into my pocket and pick up my shit and make to leave; I’m beyond annoyed at myself for dropping grades in math. It should be second nature since I play the piano and read sheet music; most people don’t realize the math involved in that. I guess I was taking for granted that I’ve always been good at it. I’m tired and my jaw still hurts like hell. I am so done with this shitty day.
“I’m heading over to the music department, you guys coming?” I’m looking back to the table. Jackson, TJ and Drew all stand and start to gather their crap, Drew kisses Dannii goodbye and the rest of us just roll our eyes. PDA’s are for pussies. They’ve been together for about a month and I’m pretty sure that if Dannii ate a cookie, Drew could spit that fucker up, they’re that close already. She has him wrapped around her little finger and everyone sees it but him.
“Later, guys!” she shouts before planting one last kiss on Drew and whispering something to him before we leave.
If you enjoyed this preview of Promises Hurt
you can purchase it now Amazon.
ALSO BY ELLE BROOKS
Promises Hurt
Forgotten Promises
Empty Promises
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
ELLE IS A little neurotic; she functions on a tiny amount of sleep and a huge amount of caffeine. Elle loves old movies, green skittles and has an irrational fear of stormy weather.
When she’s not locked away writing down the crazy stories that occupy her mind, she can be found in her home in East Yorkshire with her husband and two children.
Elle can be persuaded to do just about anything with the promise of new shoes, a good book or a bottle of bubbles.
Oh, and she also love to write.
Elle is the author of Reveal and the Promises Series, including Promises Hurt, Forgotten Promises and Empty Promises.
