Page 95 of The Casualty of Us
“Hmm,” I murmur, giving her a quick squeeze before letting go.
All out of responses to make anyone feel better but myself now.
I start to walk out of the kitchen when Ollie prods sullenly. “Can I at least come?”
“No,” I snap, walking past him and tossing out over my shoulder. “And my answer will be the same until you pull your head out of your ass.”
Just like it has been all summer.
I kickthe balls of my feet against the pavement as we come to the edge of Lincoln Park, sneakers cushioning the blow so that it only rattles my bones a little. Just enough to keep me fully present while staring at the place I was pushed out onto over a year ago. The slice of sidewalk holds no evidence of that day and bothers me because of that fact every damn time I see it. But I still keep coming back, regardless of the fact that this is basically my version of adrenaline-fueled hell.
That’s before I even get to the torture of the running too.
“How many times around are you thinking?”
I glance up at Talan out of the corner of my eye. “Probably the usual.”
“Until your legs give out, then?” he sighs.
“You bet.” I snort, pulling my phone out of the pocket of my leggings and scrolling through my playlist. “Problem with that?”
“No problem at all, ma’am.”
I turn my head to throw him a glare because he knows I hate that shit and quip. “Want to quit yet?”
“Who knows?” He shrugs, reaching his arms above his head to stretch and smiling widely. “Maybe by the end of this.”
“A girl can dream,” I sigh, looking back down to my playlist and seeing a truly inspired song that has me smirking. Quickly popping my other headphone in while holding the phone up so that he can see it. “Try to keep up, Briggs.” Then I press play on “I Don’t Care,” sliding the phone back into the pocket of my leggings and taking off toward the path. I start up a jog, which after an entire summer of self-imposed athleticism isn’t too bad if I do say so myself. Running the loop around Lincoln Park over and over again like a damn racehorse until I know every crack in the pavement personally.
All hours of the day.
Sometimes in the morning. Sometimes in the evening.
And if I’m feeling particularly like telling everyone to fuck off that day, I do it at night.
Bodyguard in tow and doing nothing to hide who I am. Music crashing through my ears loud enough to drown out even the echoes in my own head. That knot twisting further and further in my chest with every breath I gasp past it.
No pain, no gain, and all that.
Because there’s a method to my madness here.
My mind drifts back to why this unorthodox display was even necessary in the first place, and the scenery around me starts to blur as the past takes over. Every day of this summer pushing me to try and outrun it. Torturing myself for not seeing it.
The flowers in the car that no one can still figure out how they got there.
The entire drive home with Ollie drilling me with question after question and me sputtering out lame responses because I had kept this from him. The blowup when I did get home and found out this wasn’t the first time my parents had seen a message like this. Locking my door that night and lying in bed alone.
All of it twisting me up into a tangled mess right up until the sun rose.
Then the next day happened.
It was the anniversary of where it all began, and there was no way he was going to miss that. So when the knock at the door came, I ran to answer it with Ollie right on my heels. The argument that happened when one of the bodyguards said they had found another note in the mailbox.
I needed to see it.
No one understood that.
Not even Ollie. He would have me sealed in a vault right now if he could.
