Page 59 of Every Thought Taken

So, I loaded up my gear, told Dad I was camping on my own and I’d be back soon.

Fuck them all.

Hands over the fire, I rub them together in an effort to stave off the relentless chill. A chill that settled in my bones two weeks ago when I left Helena’s house. A chill I can’t shake no matter what.

A persistent pang singes my chest like a branding iron that won’t quit. It sears and scars and taunts me with false promises of recovery. False promises of better days to come. Promises I so badly want to believe.

“She just needs time,” I mutter, my words catching on the breeze and floating away.

Every day, I say the exact same words. Every day, I pray it is the day she texts or calls and says she wants to see me.

But every night, disappointment slaps me in the face. Every night, I take another step into the darkness. Because at least in the dark, I know what to expect. I know what is waiting there. I know what monsters lurk in the shadows.

In the darkness, no one lets me down.

Twisting away from the fire, I grab my pack and riffle through the front pocket. My fingers land on a small mints tin and I pluck it from the pocket. Crossing my legs on my sleeping bag, I lift the lid on the tin. Light from the fire glints on what lies inside. Shiny metal stares back with promises to never let me down.

I remove the thin blade and drop the tin at my side. Turning it over again and again, I focus on how the razor’s edge glitters in the firelight. How it calls to me. How it vows to give me solace from the pain in my heart.

Shoving a sleeve up, I lift the blade to my skin and sigh when it pierces my flesh.

The burn reminds me I’m alive. The euphoric rush reminds me I still feel. But it’s the trail of red spilling down my bicep that says the most. That not all pain is permanent.

CHAPTER35

HELENA

“Senior year,” Lessa says on a sigh. Her gaze shifts to me, a smile brightening her expression before she looks to Mags. “This is it. This is the end.” She wraps an arm around each of us and walks farther into the school. “After this, we get to explore and conquer the world.”

Exploring sounds incredible, but conquering… I’ll leave that up to her.

“All I want is for it to be over,” I admit. Yes, college is just another round of school, but at least we get to choose our path.

Lessa releases us and skips ahead, spinning around to face us. “I see it all so clearly.” She walks backward, waving a hand in front of her. “I’ll own the cutest restaurant in Lake Lavender. People will drive here from all over the state to sit in my dining room.”

I chuckle. “Oh yeah?”

With a purse of her lips, she nods. “Yep.”

Wagging a finger between me and Mags, I ask, “And what about us?”

She taps a finger on her lips. “Hmm.” After a few steps, her eyes light up. “Mags will run a dance studio in town.”

I don’t miss Mags’s wince at the mention of dance. Since her mom passed, she hasn’t set foot in the ballet studio or slipped on her pointes. She may love dance, but it was a love she shared with Mrs. Bishop.

Lessa drones on, oblivious to her discomfort. “And you, my dear Lena, will be the fashionista people all over the country talk about.” This dreamy look comes over her. “Since you started working at In Stitches, I’ve seen the changes. Your style is on point. And you always give the best recommendations in the shop.”

Over the summer, I grew to love clothes and accessories. But being a fashion designer… One, I can’t see it. And two, my parents would probably lose it if I went to college to design or sell clothes. Neither Mom nor Dad has said exactly what they expect from me with college and degrees, but I doubt it’s retail.

I open my mouth to retort Lessa’s obvious compliment but get cut off when someone shoulder checks me and keeps walking.

“What the hell, Baby A?”

My mind swirls as I stare at the back of a black hoodie and process Lessa’s words.

That was Anderson?

Before I register what I’m doing, my legs pick up the pace and usher me down the hall. Faster and faster, my muscles burn as I weave between the crowd to catch up to Anderson. Passing another cluster of lockers, I get within arm’s reach, clutch his elbow and yank.

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