Lifeline

Chapter Twenty Eight

Tonight was...unexpected to say the least. I definitely didn't come here with the intention of sleeping with her. But I'll be damned if it wasn't fucking mind-blowing. I've never slept with someone I felt this kind of connection with—and truthfully? I haven't had a connection like this with any girl. It's different, it makes my chest feel tight. I'm not sure if that's normal or if I'm having a heart attack or something.

I sit on the edge of her bed, trying to slide out quietly so I don't wake her. I close the curtains to block the sun, but not before I take in the sight of her. Her hair is spread out across the bed, her freckles on full display. I am aware how soft this makes me but I'm tempted to go and kiss each one, but after the night she had—the nightmare, not me—she needs her rest.

I'd be lying if I said I hadn't imagined last night before it happened. Because I did... when I was alone. I pictured how it would go, what I would do, and it was different from what I thought. But whatever happened was far beyond anything I could have imagined. It was something I had never experienced with any girl. And I want it to happen again—ASAP.

I glance over at the pile of books on her bedside table and see a notebook. I noticed it the other day. Although now it is twice as thick, with the pages bent and scribbled on. My face twitches, tugging at my lip, thinking about the blue ink stains that are always scribbled over her palm. I'm tempted to look, but tell my impulsive ass to back off—to not invade her privacy. Despite me wanting to know more about her, every thought she has, the dark secrets that storm behind her Autumn eyes—the ones that make her flinch at every noise. The secrets that make her muscles tense and her breath pause at every corner she turns. But I move it to the side. Underneath the notebook is every single Harry Potter book made (my sister loves them) and a copy of The Outsiders that I read because...I think it was my seventh-grade English teacher who made me read it, someone did.

I see a book with no cover and wiggle it out from the stack, then I remember what Blue told me yesterday— this is the book that her asshole father ripped. Usually, this would consume me with rage, and it does... but it also makes the centre of me ache in a nauseating way, it bloody hurts. I look at her still sleeping and I want to wrap her in my arms, take her somewhere no one could hurt her, and replace all those horrible memories with good ones. How the hell has she gone through so much pain and still managed to be the way she is? It kills a part of me to think that what she's shared so far is just the beginning. I swallow down dryly and place the book back down and notice a bookmark in—what I assume she's currently reading—The Half-Blood Prince. Which actually sounds kind of cool? I run my finger along the pages and open to the bookmarked section, skimming something about dark arts, an owl, and a Weasley—whatever that is. Then I flip the bookmark over, and everything inside me drops. My vision blurs and my skin is fucking static—and I am confused. Really fucking confused.

"Morning," Blue says from behind me, her voice soft and husky and heavy with sleep that makes my heart and stomach clench together. I don't move as she tip-toes over and snakes her arms around my waist, but I'm burning—not from her touch, but from what I'm seeing.

I don't look at her as I speak. "What is this?"

I wait for her to answer, but she only removes herself from me. "What the hell is this?" I hiss, swinging around, holding the photo up to her. Her eyes widen when she sees what I am holding and she tries to grab the photo from my hand, I pull my hand away from her reach.

"It's just a photo from when I was a kid. Remember the friend I was telling you about—"

"Not the photo!" I cut her off, my voice harsh. "The name under the photo!" Her chest is heaving and I don't even know if I am breathing at all. Because I know who the hell is in the photo— the photo is her, but that's not her name. Her name is Blue! Well, Violet, but Blue!

She swallows hard, her eyes frantically searching mine, searching for an answer.

She shifts in her spot nervously and silently, the pink that was in her cheeks this morning has completely drained. I bite down on my jaw. "Who. The hell. Is Jessie?" I demand, my jaw clenched and my voice deadly. She doesn't answer.

"WHO THE HELL IS JESSIE?!" I yell, hating that she flinches when I do—but I can't help it; something burns and rages inside of me, like she betrayed me and it doesn't make sense, but it cuts me so damn deep. She stays silent, but I don't need her to speak. I know who Jessie is. She is Jessie. Not Violet. Not my Blue. Jessie. And after everything...she didn't even bother to tell me her real name?

"What? You didn't think it was important enough to tell me? You didn't think I was important enough?!" She lied her way into my life, and I fell for it. Rage bubbles under my skin, and I have to stop myself from putting a hole in the wall. Then I notice the open duffle bag under her desk—ready to be packed—and my chest cracks open.

"Did you not bother telling me because you were planning to leave us all behind? Soon, it wouldn't have mattered, huh?!" She's shaking, she's scared, and I hate that she's afraid of me. But it also hurts that if she's scared, it means she doesn't know me, doesn't trust me. She doesn't trust me now, and she didn't trust me to tell me the very first fucking thing you should tell someone. Everything was a lie.

I push past her, and she stands in my way, trying to make me stay. But I can't hear her voice. Everything is burning and blurry, and all I can focus on is the girl I—liked—playing me for a fool. She was planning to leave, just like Georgie, but she was going to leave by choice.

"Ty, please! Let me explain!" She cries from behind me, but I can't stop. I almost run down the hall and out of that stupid place.

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