Later that night, Cole meets me on the roof. We spend the next thirty minutes with my hand in his. I’ve never felt so content in my life. I stand up and so does he. We go to my room. . .he kisses me again, his hand slipping under my shirt.
“So you just wanted to grope me? Cole, I’m disappointed.”
He laughs, his hands shamelessly bunching my shirt up to my neck and he nuzzles his face between my breasts. He kisses my skin, his warm breath causing heat to skitter down my body, then makes a sound close to a hum under his breath, closing his eyes.
After he leaves, I change into my pajamas and sit down on my chair while pulling out my doodling notebook. I grab the pens on the table ready to scribble, but something catches the corner of my eye. My heart races as I reach over and slide the letter titled, “Open when you feel like crying” off the corner of my desk. My stomach does this somersaulting thing as I take in Cole’s careless scrawl.
“It’s okay to cry. It doesn’t make you weak. It means you’ve held onto the pain for too long. It means you are strong enough to let go and it makes me love you even more. I want to be there to hold you when your world is falling apart. Maybe I won’t be able to put it back together, but I sure as hell will try.”
Remember the silver lining. ;)
Cole.
I TURNED EIGHTEEN ON AUGUST sixteenth. I celebrated the better part of that day with my sisters and Mom, snuggled on her bed in her room. Later that night on the roof, Cole brought a cupcake for me with one candle on top of it and a drawing of a butterfly in flight, with a special note on the back of it. “Find your wings and fly.” He also gave me a necklace with two beautiful pendants on it: a round galaxy, made up of a dome glass which is painted in blue-green and red colors beneath it with glitter for stars, and an anchor. It was beautiful and a thoughtful gift, and I adore it so much. I couldn’t have asked for a better birthday.
Megs flew back home from California a week before school started. I contemplated if I should wear a blouse with long sleeves to cover my arms, but decided against it. Everyone would know about the scars sooner or later. I preferred the latter and to get it out of the way.
After dropping Elon and Elise at school, I drove to mine. My first day went better than I expected. Word spread around that there was a new girl in school—a cutter. Most people stared in the hallways and during lunch, and in every class I attended, which made my skin itch and the urge to run, immense. It wasn’t easy.
Right after school, I was wonderfully surprised to find Cole, Simon and Megs waiting for me outside in the school parking lot next to the Station Wagon. I’d never felt so relieved and happy in my whole life. It made me wonder how I’d survived all this time without friends.
The first week of school crawled by, people continued to stare, but after a while they got bored, I guess.
Cole and I were chatting about our life goals last night. I still have no idea what I really want to do. There are so many options to choose from.
Today is the first time Cole didn’t show up on the roof since we moved here. Watching the night sky has become our thing. I’ve already sent him several texts but he hasn’t replied.
I walk to the window and duck my head out. No one seems to be home in The Holloway house. It has been that way for hours and I’m starting to feel nervous. None of their cars are parked outside the house. Uneasiness slithers down my spine. I can’t shake off the feeling that something is wrong.
Before I met Cole, I would’ve rolled my eyes if someone told me that another person could become your whole world within the blink of an eye. Now I know and understand that a person can be a stranger one second, nothing but a fantasy, and the next, knock your world off its axis and claim every breath from your lungs with his existence.
At around ten-thirty p.m., I hear the sound of a car pulling to a stop, snapping me out of my thoughts. I scramble up and carefully balance myself on the tiles. My heart flips around inside my chest as I dash to the window.
I glance at the Holloway house. Maggie is walking briskly toward the porch, her head bowed. Suddenly, she stiffens and looks around. I follow her gaze and see dad’s car pulling in to a stop outside our house. He jumps out of the car and jogs across the lawn toward her. Maggie snaps into action, clutches her purse under her arm and literally dashes to the front door. She stops to unlock her door, darting a glance over her shoulder while fumbling with the keys in her hands. Dad catches up to her, reaches out for her arm and spins her around. He leans closer, speaking in a low voice. She yanks her arm from his grip in an attempt to move away from him, but he doesn’t give her space. He stalks after her and positions his body in front of her, blocking her escape.
“You shouldn’t be here, Stephen,” she says in a shrilly, quivering voice. She shoots a glance in the direction of our house, then back to my father.