Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 73828 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 369(@200wpm)___ 295(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73828 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 369(@200wpm)___ 295(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
I roll over to face him. “And you don’t care about how much you hurt him?”
“I honestly didn’t know how much he cared until it was over. When he started getting weird. Like texting all the time and coming up to chat with me at like every party we both happened to be at one night…which happened way too much for a while there.”
“But it’s not just Keith, and you know it. I can name two other guys who you did this to last year.”
“You rich kids think you’re entitled to everything. Even other people. Especially if they’re beneath you.”
“What?”
“I’ve seen you guys. Hooked up with plenty of you to know the moment you want something, you think it belongs to you already because you’re so used to getting exactly what you want. And when you can’t have one thing in this world, it drives you nutty. Makes your whole world crash down around you because that’s something you don’t get, is it?”
“You don’t know anything about me.”
“Everyone knows about you. You’re the governor’s son.”
“Meaning people know even less than they realize.”
“Sure. Okay. Just go to bed, please.”
There’s no point fighting him while I’m like this. I’ll lose. And if Mom’s taught me anything, it’s that losing isn’t an option.
I close my eyes. The room is still moving.
And then, a powerful sensation rushes through me.
Shit.
I roll over and hop off the bed just in time to spew vomit across the floor before me.
Shitty shit shits.
8
TIM
Fuck Mark.
Throwing up all over the floor—all over the pile of dirty clothes in my room.
I spent over thirty minutes cleaning it up. He offered to help, almost hit me when he demanded I let him help. I practically had to kick his ass to get him to lay down in bed.
I’ll need to head to the laundromat today to get these clothes clean. Won’t risk putting them into the washer here, that’s for sure.
I enter the bedroom, holding a plate with an omelet and two pieces of toast in one hand. In my other, I pinch the rim of a glass of water between my fingers while holding a couple ibuprofen in my palm.
“Rise and shine, sleepyhead,” I say as I nudge his arm with the plate.
He squints his eyes open. “What time is it?”
“Six. I figured if you had a class at eight fifteen, you’d have time to get to it if I woke you up now.”
“I think I’m gonna skip.” He glances at the plate. “What’s that?”
“It’s an omelet.”
“You fucking cook?”
“Yeah. What of it?”
He sits up and slides across the bed until his back’s against the headboard. He eyes me skeptically as he takes the plate.
“It’s not poisoned or anything.”
“Thanks,” he says.
I hand him the ibuprofen and water. He downs the pills.
“That was some serious drinking last night,” I tell him.
“Yeah.” Mark looks for a place to set down the glass. I take it from him and set it on the nightstand.
He eyes me uneasily once again.
“What? Are you disappointed I’m not the heartless bastard you thought I was?”
“I don’t know how I feel right now, other than nauseous.”
He glances at the plate of food.
“Did you actually make this?”
“Yeah.”
“You’re just full of surprises, aren’t you, Tim Halwell? Sorry. I mean, thank you.”
“It took me like five minutes.”
“No. I mean, yes. But also, thank you for last night. You didn’t have to help me. Or clean up the glass I broke. Or the…”
He eyes where the pile of clothes were on the floor before I bagged them up and moved them outside.
“Oh, fuck,” he says.
“Don’t sweat it.”
“I’ll take care of that. I’ll clean them up.”
“That would be helpful,” I admit.
“I just can’t believe I let it get that bad.”
“You had a lot to deal with last night.”
“God, I can only imagine what Greg thinks is going on between you and me. Not that there is anything. Just that he’s going to think…”
“That you’re suddenly making terrible life choices because you went home with the school drug dealer?”
“You said it, not me.”
“Well, better than dating some lying, cheating scumbag, isn’t it?”
“Right? Oh, God. How bad is it? Be honest with me. Nobody is fucking honest with me. What does everyone think? Do they think I’m just this idiot who fell for his looks and personality and that I’m such a fucking idiot for not knowing what he and Morgan were up to?”
“Pretty much,” I say, my words filled with sarcasm.
He glares at me.
“God.”
“That was a shitty way to find out, too,” I add. “Finding your buddy’s phone in the bed when you were trying to text him. That’s some fucked up shit.”
“Sounds like more of the rumor’s gotten around than I thought. I bet Greg’s bragging about it because he’s impressed with how long he got away with it. The messages went back three months. Three months out of the fucking year we were together. Now everyone thinks I’m an idiot.”