Page 6 of A Hurt So Good

We finish our walk back to Denz’s house and head back inside. Sasha comes rushing out of her room, grabs the bag, and runs to the kitchen. We follow her.

“Hungry?” I ask.

“Hell yeah. I haven’t eaten since lunch and school lunch is disgusting,” she says as she pulls burgers from the bag, passing us each one. She pulls the wrapper from hers and scrunches up her nose. “Are you serious?”

“What?”

“Is that blood? You got blood on my burger?” she huffs. War grabs the burger with his still bloody hand and trades her.

“Here, this one is clean.” Sasha doesn’t need to be told twice; she rips it open and starts eating.

“Why is there blood on that burger?” she asks through a full mouth.

“None of your business.”

“Why is War bloody?” she asks, looking at me this time.

“None of your business.”

“So it’s none of my business, but you tried to feed me a bloody burger?” she asks, raising an eyebrow.

“There was an incident, and now it’s handled,” Denz tells her.

“And you’re just going to eat it?” She looks at War with disgust. War rolls his eyes, peels off the bloodied part of the bun, and tosses it in the trash.

“Better?” he asks.

“No! That’s still disgusting. It’s on your hands.”

We all sit back and eat our food while talking with Sasha about school and how much she hates it. Not that it matters; she isn’t dropping out like we did. She’s smarter than we are and has more to offer than us.

And I’m damn proud of her for it, too.

Chapter 5

Arya

I wander around the house, although there isn’t much to do. I mean, of course, there’s a pool out back, and the beach is just a short walk away. I’ve already looked around at everything I could find inside, but not this last room. I grab the handle and turn, stepping into the library. I gasp as I look at all the books. I can’t believe there are so many.

I step in and take a closer look when I hear someone come in behind me. I look over my shoulder and see Jarrod.

“This is amazing,” I tell him. He smiles, slipping his hands into his pockets as he walks closer.

“Back in the day, I loved to read. Eighteenth-century poets mostly.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Alexander Pope, Lady Mary Wortley Montagu. You name it, I read it.”

“Do you still read?” I ask. He shakes his head and walks over to the books, sliding his hand out of his pocket to run his fingers along the spines.

“I don’t have much time for that anymore. Work keeps me busy, and any downtime I have, I try to spend with my family.” Ilower my head because I don’t remember a time we did things as a family. “Do you read?”

“Not as much as I probably should.”

“Why not? Not something you’re interested in?”

“Not really. I’m more like my mom. I like the fashion scene and the online work.”

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