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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I brought us to a hotel and booked a room under a fake name. I tried to get her to eat something— anything. She hadn't eaten at all today, but she wasn't hungry. We have been laying in bed and I have been doing my best to comfort her, not sure my best is good enough. Because my best efforts have been wavering from all the questions that have been gnawing at my gut. She's laying on her stomach face down on the bed, arms folding underneath to cradle her head. I know she's not sleeping, but she's exhausted, I can tell by the way she isn't anxiously fidgeting like she normally would be.
"Can I ask you something..." I hesitate, watching her carefully as she lazily rolls her head toward me. "...do you love him?"
"Yes. With everything I have." And my heart is in my balls as the words left her. "But not like-" She continued and then stops herself.
"Not like what?" I freeze. I literally think my heart stopped beating in anticipation or it is beating so damn fast that they roll into one constant drum— Because I want her to say it. I want her to fill in my blanks. Say you. Say "but not like you."
Her chest rises and falls painfully slowly. "I love him as a best friend. He is my family. He was my only family...until recently."
"Until recently, hey?" I smirk.
"Shut up!" She says, grabbing the closest pillow and throwing it at me— it lands next to my feet.
"Tell me about him," I encourage and make my way over to sit on the edge of the bed. Part of me wants to know, and another part doesn't. Scared shitless that she may feel something more than friendship for him— I don't think I can deal with that. Not after everything. And after she kissed him...
"What do you want to know?"
"Tell me a memory. Anything."
"He broke into my bedroom window one night, which really wasn't that hard because every time there was a gust of wind it sounded like it was about to shatter," she laughs. "And he dragged me to the cinema— literally dragged me. It was a Friday night and I was locked up in my room, crying. I hadn't responded to his texts and when he saw me, he knew why. My face was red and swollen from my dad. The second time he ever hit me. Mikey always knew when something was wrong. It took everything in him to not go down there and fight my dad. But he held back. He didn't ask me what happened because he didn't need to. He went to the broken closet and grabbed the first jacket he saw, demanding I put it on. He saw me flinch every time there was a bang downstairs and his jaw would clench. He walked over to the window and held out his hand. I took it and he helped me through the window. He knew I didn't need help, I knew I didn't need help. I'd used my bedroom window as an escape route more times than I did the front door. It was the gesture that was important– the action. Him telling me that he was there, that he had me. Always. Without words. That he will always get me out of trouble. We snuck into the cinemas and found a spot up the back. He flung his backpack over his shoulder and unzipped it, pulling out a blanket and throwing it over me. We were there early, I didn't even know what movie was showing. And the room was dark and cold and he asked me—
