Burn (Book 2)

Chapter Six

THAT NIGHT, I stay up at my desk once more, typing away on my laptop. My fingers clicking softly against the keys, my earbuds plugged in. The sun has already set by now. I haven't even bothered to check the time, but judging by the darkness and the emptiness I feel outside and the moon shining directly above the skyscrapers in front of my window, if I had to guess, I'd say it's around eleven or so in the evening. I let a yawn escape me, despite my horrible efforts in trying to stifle it with my palm on the corner of my lips. I blink the grogginess out of my eyes, rubbing the edges of my eyes with balled fists. I take another sip of my coffee without looking away from the screen. My leg bounces underneath my desk, fingers drumming against the keys on the laptop. My auburn hair is done up in a low, messy bun, letting a few strands of red curls dangle in front of my ears.

 I'm in John's pajamas, something cozy for the night and something to make me feel like he's actually here—where he should be, not down in South Carolina. I constantly drag my eyes towards my phone sitting next to me on the desk, waiting for some kind of notification. Some kind of sign or reassurance that John is still alive. Some kind of news about him... 

 I huff out a sigh frustratingly and return my attention back to my novel in progress. I'm only halfway through now. I have about twenty more chapters to write; I plan on making the novel roughly forty or so chapters, ten or so pages each. I lick my dry, chapped lips and click my teeth before taking another unhealthy swing of my coffee. I blink, my fingers hover over the keys momentarily as I slowly lose my train of thought. I furrow my brows, frowning with confusion as I tilt my head to one shoulder, trying to remember my words. I glance back at the unfinished paragraph, rereading the words I had previously written in hopes it would clue me in to what I was trying to write. 

  Ah-ha, found you, I think with a small grin on my face as I return typing once more on the keys. I bring my leg up to my desk chair, propping the heel of my foot on the edge and wrapping an arm around my knee as I continue working. Soft music with soft, blurred lyrics behind the music plays in my ears in the background, blocking out all distractions. My toes tap against the chair to the beat of the song and I find myself humming along, rocking side to side in my chair. Around a half-hour or so later, around midnight at this point, I find myself glancing at the train of photographs on the side wall above my desk. 

I smile a little at the memories, from my first selfie I had taken with Peggy when I had first arrived at King's High, to a shared kiss between John and I (I have no doubt Peggy had taken that one as well. It wouldn't surprise me if she majored in photography. Her angles and lighting and edits in these photos of us are incredible), to Angelica and Eliza sitting outside at table probably either at school or at a café shop, laughing about something, to more kisses being shared between John and I and the selfie of the Schuyler Sisters and I at the mall. To finally our last kiss before John got on that train to head to South Carolina. 

I swallow hard when my eyes land on that one, specific one. I sigh as I rip the photo off the wall, clutching it tightly in both hands. I rest my thin fingers on John lightly, his head tipped down a little so he could angle his face perfectly as he kissed me goodbye. I could tell I'm standing on my toes slightly as I grabbed him by his lapels to pull him down to meet his lips. Why? Why does it always happen to me? This is why I'm too afraid to get close to anyone. I'm too afraid they'll leave me, just like everyone else in my family has. I clutch onto the photo a bit tighter, feeling myself scowl slightly—scolding myself.