Just one last chapter, my mind said. My hands were sore from holding a book for over five hours at a time. The paper cuts on my fingers were raw, but I didn’t pay any attention to them. I had to finish reading this book. My heavy eyes slid over the writing.
Victoria held onto Dean’s hand She wanted to thank him for their night, forgive him for her rudeness. She knew that when he hid his expressions, it was when he was enduring too many confusing ones. Victoria knew that he couldn’t express his love to her as easily as she.
I sighed, already pissed off with Victoria’s annoying personality. I threw my cliche-looking bookmark into my book and placed it on my night stand. The bookmark was one of my birthday presents, along with a couple of books, from my close friend Skye. She actually took time away from her constant Netflix marathons to buy me something.
The blankets of my bed were already warm from my body heat. I sunk down into the comforter and took a peak at the clock on my wall. One thirty in the morning. Nice, an hour earlier than last night.
I replayed what I just read, in my mind. Victoria confessed her love for Dean in her own conscience and assumed Dean must be in love with her too. Victoria’s cockiness and overdose on self-pride bothered me too much. It’s not like Dean isn’t cocky, in fact he should get a medal for his level of cockiness. But Victoria was just so freaking annoying. I don’t even like this book. To be honest, I wouldn’t be reading this book if it weren’t for Dean. Gorgeous Dean.
I didn’t really think of myself as liking green-eyes dirty-blonde-hair guy, but there I was fantasizing over him and his sarcastic demon-slayer self. The necklace he wore, with gold and silver pounded metal, drove me crazy. His quotes were my favorite, though. And I can’t get over his hair cut that was described in the book.
And there I was, dreaming about a freaking fictional character. God, I wondered when my obsession would stop. I had to mentally deter myself from using all the fandom-related jokes daily. I needed to stop wearing flannels just like him.
Within five minutes I was asleep and dreaming about him. The way the front of his dirty blonde hair is always combed up, pointed at the sky. His obsession with apple pie. His bright green eyes . .
I woke up like I would any other day. Hair tangled and in my face. Arms around me in odd angles. Legs outstretched and feet hung off the edge of the bed. My alarm was screaming at me and if I, God forbid, left it running longer than three seconds, my step father would punish me and I would be late for school.
I jumped out of bed at the thought of my stomach grumbling from hunger if he took away my dinner tonight. Chloe, my little sister, jumped out of her bed too and tip toe to her closet. She pulled out her pair of skinny jeans and her black top with some band logo on it, which was becoming too tight on her chest.
Tomorrow will be her thirteenth birthday and I hoped I could get her more clothes. My job at Noah’s Coffee isn’t the most practical job, but it did make good pay. I had enough for my books, but not enough for books and a birthday gift. For that I would have to ask my step father who has almost more money than God. Or my mother, but I wouldn’t want to burden her.
I grabbed on my own skinny jeans and fitted shirt, which was also tight on my chest. Threw on a cardigan and step into my flats. When I got to the bathroom, I slipped on my eye contacts. I tied my hair loosely up in a bun and grabbed my car keys from my table.
By the time I packed in both our backpacks and was in our mom’s Audi, Chloe finished making tea and brought bananas for our breakfast. I set my tea in a cup holder, when it spilled. Chloe opened the dashboard to find a napkin. “Holy shit,” she said.
