Victoria Navitski's already messed up life turned sideways after the death of a close family member. Now, not only does she need to protect herself from the attacks of revenge seekers, but gang members too.
She enters the world of drugs, revenge se...
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Innit?
“Bad Girls Have Bad Secrets.”
The Thirty Eighth Secret — A Crack in The Glass.
The second he spoke those words, I frowned deeper, gaze flickering to his arm— where both of his wounds were bandaged up and taken care off— and then to his face. I opened my mouth, then closed it, some why unable to form words with confusion boggling my mind.
"Are you not going to say something?" He asked, eyes unable to meet mine.
"You dramatic ass," I said, attempting to sound firm, but my voice quivered as I hoped I was right, "You're not dying from that!" I gestured to his arm, "The doctor said it'll heal."
He looked to the ceiling, chuckles leaving his mouth but his eyes welled with tears, "No." His voice cracked. "It's not this. I'm not . . . I'm sick, Freckles."
"What's wrong?" I whispered, gaze unmoving from his face.
"I was diagnosed with leukemia. Acute Lymphocytic Leukemia."
Dread pooled in my stomach and my fingers loosened around his. The silence was suddenly deafening, but even more so for him as he waited. Waited for a reaction, but I gave non, eyes downcast as my mind raced. No... God no, please.
I swallowed hard. "Are you shitting me?" I whispered, fighting the strain that was lodged in my throat. I hoped he was joking, but he shook his head, a single tear slipping out that caused my heart to ache. "How much time left?"
Logan couldn't meet my eyes and when I realised he wasn't going to reply, I asked, "How long have you known?"
"Three years now."
My chest constricted with sudden grief and my voice trembled when I whispered, "This whole time?"
With those words, I broke.
I cracked, allowing tears to spill from my eyes as numbness washed over me. "Logan, how—" I choked up, seeing his pained expression as he suddenly tried to get up, tried to reach for me, but I didn't attempt to help him. He needed to be still, he needed to heal from these wounds at least. Logan was no longer crying, and instead tugged my hand to his lips. He pressed a firm kiss to the back of it, as though he tried to reassure me that he was here now.
I didn't understand how he was okay with that knowledge; how he got through every day for three years knowing any day could be his last. Every thought would've been that— even when he was having fun, did he think it would've been his last?
