Page 122 of Unorthodox
But I know it isn’t true, and I hate myself for it.
I wonder if I’m losing my fucking mind in this big, silent house as I stare at the ceiling and imagine him with that gun to his head.
Imagine his heated argument with Mamie.
The way his eyes glistened with tears he’d never shed.
How he held me close afterward, as if he were clinging to me.
The way he tried to tear me down in my room days later.
The “incident” in the car.
Zeke.
Max’s arm around me as he pulled the trigger.
And that name…Jameson.
I don’t let myself think about it. About where I might go if my father doesn’t hurry up. If I don’t escape like I think I might.
I try not to think that the last time I was with Max,thatwill be my entire life. The pain. The bed.
I close my eyes, my heart aching, and drift off into a fitful sleep, rewinding that night in my head, thinking of the words Mamie whispered to me in my room as she got me ready for the party. Words of hope.
I’m not sure if I believe what she told me. I don’t really think this nightmare will ever end. And a part of me, as grateful as I am for her words—her seeds of a plan—part of me feels the sharp sting of sorrow at the idea of leaving.
At what I could find within Max Bennett if I stayed.
I don’t often havenightmares.
Maybe a handful of times in my entire life, ever.
But sometimes, something triggers them, and when it does, I wake up screaming.
Like now.
Immediately, I sit up, scrambling back against the headboard, clamping my hand over my mouth.
Inhale. Exhale.
Repeat.
A cold sweat breaks out over the back of my neck, but in the dark, I see nothing. Hear nothing. The TV is gone, and I had been using the blue glow as a nightlight.
Now, though, there’s nothing.
One hand still over my mouth, I reach for the new lamp on my nightstand. The third one since I’ve been here.
I flick it on.
I see nothing in the mostly empty room. The door to the bathroom is closed, how I left it. The closet is closed.
But my bedroom door...it’s open.
I pull my knees into my chest, wrap my arms around them after I drop my hand from my mouth.
My chest is heaving, but I force myself to breathe slowly in and out through my nose, trying to listen for anything that sounds off.
