{18+ COMPLETE} For the past three years, Bren Hadaway has been preparing to die.
When he was sixteen, he watched his dad murder his mom. And ever since, he's been counting down the days until it was his turn to be at the end of a gun. And Bren has...
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April 20th
Bren,
You can't ignore me forever.
You're my son.You always will be.
Don't forget that.
Dad
— tw: miscarriage
Words.
They meant nothing unless you felt them.
Maybe you felt them because of what they stood for. Maybe you felt them because of how someone said them. Or maybe you felt the words because of who said them.
Madie.
Every fucking word of hers, I felt. Spoken, unspoken—it didn't matter.
And thank god, too. I needed that love, that longing, that concern. I needed it now more than ever. Because every word from my dad's letters drowned me in a mess of emotions that I didn't think I could handle. Actually, I knew I wouldn't be able to handle any of it if it wasn't for the fresh air Madie breathed into me every time she spoke. Every time she looked my way, every time she reached out to keep me from falling deeper.
I wasn't trying to pull away. I was trying to hold on. But shit, it was hard. I didn't know how to tell her the fucking truth about me. About him.
I was a goddamn hypocrite.
For months now, I'd urged Madie to press charges against Quinton so his ass would get tossed in jail. But I'd never had the courage to face my dad long enough to do the same. I'd never tried to find him, never tried to help the authorities arrest him, never tried to put his sorry ass away.
And that was the fucking problem.
I knew what Madie would say when she found out. And I knew the way those words would make me feel.
But before I could even think about telling Madie just how much I screwed up, there was someone else I needed to talk to first. Someone who I owed it to even more.
So when I woke up the morning after Madie had confronted me in the kitchen, I placed a light kiss on her forehead and slipped from her arms. The room was cold without her warmth, without being in bed to hold her. But it didn't matter because I knew what I needed to do. After throwing on a sweatshirt and hat, I strode to the door and twisted the knob, praying it would open silently.
But I didn't even get a chance to try to sneak away. A low voice stopped me.
"Bren."
I turned around. Madie sat up in bed. Her pretty hair was braided, resting over one shoulder. And her blue eyes were practically slits as she looked over at me. It was hard to tell if it was because she was barely awake...or because she was pissed.
