My throat hurts from all the screaming but Alex is there so I don't mind.
"Where am I?" I whisper to him, my head still buried in his chest, making my core pound with longing and heat.
"In my apartment---"
"OW!" Pain stabs at my head and I bolt up straight, kneading my forehead. Then I can feel my stomach roiling in my body and I hold my hand to my mouth and jog to the bathroom. I lean over the toilet edge and Alex comes in behind me and shuts the door, holding my hair up as the remains of my only meal yesterday resurface.
"That's okay. Let it out," he tells me and when I'm done, I glare at him. "What?"
"Let it out? Is that all you can say?"
"Uh... what's wrong?"
"The world is a very corrupt place."
"Ummmmmm..."
"You were dying."
He is silent for a few seconds. Then, breathlessly, he whispers, "What?"
"You were dying in front of me. That's what happened."
His face flashes through several expressions before settling on sympathy and he cautiously reaches for me but I smack his arm away. "Don't touch me."
"Whoa..." He puts his hands in the air to show that he won't do anything.
1
2
3
creaks.
I jump.
"Hey, calm down. It's only us here. No one's going to hurt you. Not on my watch," he says it sincerely but for some reason, I don't believe him. I tell him so. "Why?"
"Maybe I didn't make it clear. I. Don't. Believe. You."
I want to, is what I don't mention.
You're cheating.
You can't cheat.
Your family's lives would be lost if you did...
Say goodbye...
Cheater...
YOU ARE READING
Paint Splats
RandomElizabeth McBride, a 16-year-old girl who loves to paint, just got out of the hospital after having from the most traumatic experience in her life. She now spends her time holed up in her room, refusing to eat more than one meal a day, painting dark...
