Jessie Kensington thought she had escaped her troubled past when she faked her death and started a new life as Violet Arrowood. But three years later, she finds herself at Vanguard University on a scholarship, trying to build the future she always d...
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This entire week has been utter hell. Which is my excuse for the amber glass in my hand. Between worrying about Clara and checking on her every two seconds... and worrying about my sister and making sure she's still, you know? Breathing— it's been pretty crappy.
Violet has been with Clara every damn waking moment, but I don't know if I can trust her. Violet doesn't know Clara or what she struggles with, and something about her feels... off. She reeks of secrets and lies, and it makes me uneasy. I don't know shit about her, but I'm certain there's something going on, and I don't want her dragging Clara into trouble. But the messed-up part is? There's a part of me that doesn't want Violet to get hurt either... As if I don't have enough to worry about.
Take right now, for example. I should be getting ready for the game tonight. Coach told us to be there no later than 5 p.m. to warm up, but the scotch I'm cradling in my hand is calling my name more than a stupid football game is.
I did plan to be there on time, after a quick stop at my parents' house to see Georgie. I brought her McDonald's because Mum and Dad don't let her eat it. She was at the hospital today for a new treatment, and she deserves to eat whatever the hell she wants. I know what these new treatments mean— a skeleton of my sister walking around the house. She's already tiny, and each hospital visit leaves her thinner, frailer, and sicker. I hate it.
My parents didn't even notice me walking in; they were too busy fighting about treatments and better hospitals. I crept up the stairwell to Georgie's room and cracked open her door. I went to call her name, but instead of her sitting at her desk doing homework or whatever girls her age do, I saw her lying in bed, headphones in, staring up at the ceiling, tears streaming down her face.
Not to be dramatic... but you could've heard my heart crack.
I spent the afternoon holding my sobbing little sister until the exhaustion pulled her into a deep sleep. She only said three words to me the whole time I was there: "Ty, I'm scared."
My sister acts strong, like she's just a regular girl with regular problems— like a calculus test she didn't study enough for (she did), or what to wear to the school dance. But every so often? She cracks, and the scared little girl inside shows herself. But never in front of our parents— she hides her pain from them because it would make them fight even more. It's utter bullshit. I'm biting my tongue, not for their sake, but for Georgie's. They're so blinded by pain that they don't see they're causing even more. They're amazing parents... but right now? They're being ignorant as hell.
I left her food next to her, putting it inside an insulated lunch bag, hoping she'd have the appetite to eat it when she wakes up. Then I walked out of the house, flipping my parents off on the way out. I don't know if they saw it or not, but it made me feel a tiny bit better. I rang Ace, hoping for a fight tonight, but of course, there was none. So I opted for Plan B—drinking until the pain begins to numb.
