--Six time award winning novel by June D. Silver-
"Hidden truths are unspoken lies"
As a straight A student, Finnley never got himself into trouble. He goes to school, runs track, hangs out with his two best friends Cristian and Emma and studies; a...
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- Friday, May 13th, 2016 -
– 3,5 months after the disappearance –
The loud noise of music pumping in the house is about the only thing keeping me awake while I'm sprawled on the couch, feeling dizzy and nauseas because I ended up getting a headache and I took a painkiller to prevent from it ruining the night, probably pissing off Stan even further.
But that wasn't a good decision after all the alcohol drinks I had.
The world is now spinning, voices annoying me, flashing lights blinding me and my head still hurting a bit, while my stomach is protesting the intake of intoxicating stuff.
I'm vaguely aware someone is talking to me with a bit of annoyance in his voice, or worry, or amusement. I can't really tell since I can't even make out the words he's saying. I just want to sleep, have all of this noise and pain and the overall shitty feeling to just go away.
The world starts to spin even worse and I notice a couple of hands holding onto my arms, before I feel like I'm flying, only to be held down by a pair of arms holding me down; or up. I couldn't tell the difference anymore.
Muffled voices, noises clashing – dying in the distance after a soft thud.
More spinning, before I feel like I'm in heaven, comfortably lying down, rolling over to my side.
"Cristian?" A faintly recognizable voice is close to my face, but I'm too far from reality to put a face along with the voice, let alone remember a name that's fitting. "Are you awake?"
"Uhu."
"You know where you are?"
"No."
"You know who I am?"
"No?" I groan, trying to roll over, but whoever he is, he's stopping me from doing so.
"Do you remember anything from tonight?"
Do I remember anything? What is there to remember? Stan took me to a party and I ended up with a headache and a huge amount of alcohol running though my veins. Stan nowhere to be found to take care of me.
"Where's Stan?"
"Don't think about Stan." The voice is southing, while a hand is pushing back my hair, holding onto my head gently. "You don't love him, do you? You hate him."
"No..." I whine. "No hate."
"But you want to leave him."
"He won't let me..." I feel tears prickling in my eyes, suddenly all feelings of fear, sadness, loneliness catching up, crashing down on me. "He hurts me."
"Cris, you really are ungrateful, you know? A cocky brat who doesn't appreciate the things a guy does for him." The grip on my hair grows tighter, pulling on it painfully.
