Page 69 of The Casualty of Us
“Maybe.” I roll my eyes, avoiding looking back up and encouraging him, but really…who could resist that? A fucking reading list.
Clever little shit.
He pulls the same shit on me the next morning because even with procrastinating for an extra thirty minutes, he’s still there—waiting for me to slide the first book across the table to him. Returning the copy of1984to me by Friday and asking for my next recommendation.
Somehow turning reading into a form of fucking penance.
Chapter Eighteen
HAYES - MARCH 2013
I’m living in hell.
Literary hell possibly, but still, it fucking counts.
“You know that I could as soon forget you as my existence!”
My brows drop as I come to the end of Heathcliff’s speech because damn…I feel you, dude. Fucking love. Apparently it’ll do that to you, which I’ve now found out.
Not like I can mention that to O, though. I’m not exactly thinking it’s a good idea to try that plan again, seeing as she took a book to someone’s face the last time I said it.
I panicked, though…had been living in a constant state of panic ever since waking up Christmas morning with the night before playing in my head like a nightmare I couldn’t escape. Josey’s subtle approach as I’d been stumbling back to the dorms after the party. The offer to hang out and finish off the bottle of tequila she had, then her giggle when I almost faceplanted a second later as we made it to the auditorium.
I’d known.
Known what she wanted.
Fuck, it was the same thing every other girl wanted from me growing up, regardless of their age or mine. To attachthemselves to the son of the great Drake Flynn. To spark that connection and use me in some shape or form.
I’ve been a paycheck to someone since the second I was born.
Conceived in greed—that’s me—check here, please. Literally.
But I figured I’d do a quick shot to not be rude, then turn in for the night. I had been pissed and miserable and too drunk to even begin to figure out why.
Not that I had much luck at it sober either.
Then when I turned around to go, she grabbed my arm and kissed me, and I’d thought it—just for a split second—but it had popped into my head uninvited.
That this might be easier.
That O deserves better than me anyway. Deserves someone who actually knows what the fuck they’re doing half the time and that this might make it stop. Might end it.
Might make that hole in me full of dread that I’m always about to fail her somehow go away. Might allow me to finally clear my world away. That maybe me failing her would really be the best thing for everyone.
Cut both our losses before we got too deep and I fucked it up.
That maybe a little bit of pain now was better than worlds of it later.
That maybe I should have never made that deal.
Because that makes sense.
The thoughts had all come and gone in the split second Josey kissed me, spinning my head around until my next breath brought the realization with it that everything about her was wrong. The smell. The feel. All of it.
I’ve never shoved someone away so fast, but it was already too late.
Then the next morning, when it clicked to my sober mind that the reason that dread would be gone is because Freckles would be too…well, I puked a whole fuck ton more then. Thosesad eyes staring at me with expectation flashing through my head with every fucking heave.
