Part 7 (2/2)

”Ha,” I grumbled, not feeling one bit sorry for Sean. ”That's nothing.” If six months was cla.s.sed as a dry spell then I was living in a drought. ”Try going without any for two years and then come back to me.”

”You could always have Liam,” Sean offered after a moment before bursting out laughing.

”Funny,” I shot back crankily. ”But no, thanks all the same.”

”Why not?” Twisting on the couch, he faced me. ”He's crazy about you, Teagan always has been by the sounds of it. And you two had that thing back in secondary school.”

”Liam and I are just friends,” I declared, fl.u.s.tered at the thought of being anything more than that. ”Seriously, Sean,” I said crossly when he waggled his eyebrows at me. ”We are just friends.”

”Then you might want to tell him that,” Sean scoffed. ”That guy has a soft spot for you.”

”No he doesn't,” I grumbled, not liking where this conversation was going. ”Can we change the subject now? Please?”

”Fine. Suit yourself,” he replied, holding his hands up in the air. ”But I really think you ought to give the guy a chance.”

”I can't give Liam a chance, Sean, because I'm still not over the last guy I gave a chance to,” I snapped. ”So just back off. Okay?”

Sean's mouth curved into a knowing smile. ”So that's it,” he whispered as if the whole world suddenly made perfect sense. ”You've been burned.”

”I guess if you call having your heart annihilated burned, then yes, I've been burned before,” I grumbled. ”I'm still burning.”

”Want to talk about it?” he asked.

”Nope.”

”Want to get drunk?”

”Definitely.”

AS TIME Pa.s.sED BY, and my heart grew harder, shriveled up and died in my chest, I allowed myself to forget all about JD Dennis and his threat that night. I knew he was still out there, somewhere, but I didn't care. I had nothing left to lose. All I cared about now was fighting...well, fighting and the s.a.d.i.s.t sitting on the bunk in front of me.

”Stop moving, man, f.u.c.k!” Lucky hissed, shoving me backwards with the palm of his hand.

”I'm trying,” I hissed out through clenched teeth, as I wrapped my hands around the metal bunk and braced myself for the pain. ”f.u.c.k, Lucky, I thought you said you knew what you were doing?”

”I do,” my one friend in this s.h.i.+t hole of a place replied as he inked the side of my ribcage. ”So stop crying like a b.i.t.c.h and let the master work his magic.”

”Look at me,” I snarled, clenching the bars of the bunk when it felt like he was going to cut through my ribs. ”I'm f.u.c.king bleeding out here.”

I wasn't a stranger to pain, but letting Lucky tat me with his f.u.c.ked up concoction of ink was almost unbearable. ”f.u.c.k!” I hissed, when he nicked me for what had to be the fiftieth time. Throwing an arm forward, I swiped the cigarette that was balancing between his lips, and put it to my mouth, inhaling deeply.

”There,” he mumbled, ”Done.”

Inhaling one final drag, I pa.s.sed Lucky his smoke and climbed off the bed. ”Jesus Christ,” I growled, looking down at my tender, bloodstained skin. ”You f.u.c.king butchered me, man.”

”You wanted a thorn in your side, Messina,” Lucky drawled, leaning back from where he was perched on the bottom bunk. Chuckling, he admired his handiwork with a s.h.i.+t-eating grin on his face. ”And it looks like you've got one.”

TODAY WAS NOAH'S BIRTHDAY and I found myself, like every birthday before that, standing in front of the postbox at the end of my street with a crumpled envelope in my hands. I had lost count of the number of times I wrote him a letter, only to chicken out before mailing it.

Crowds of people brushed past me, carrying on with their day-to-day lives, oblivious to the turmoil churning around inside of me.

Maybe I had too much pride, or maybe I was a coward, but as the days turned into weeks, and the weeks turned into months and then years, I found myself too afraid to send that d.a.m.n letter. I wanted to, but I was frightened of what he would say, or worse, what he didn't say if he chose to behave the way I had in the beginning.

My life wasn't like the f.u.c.king Notebook. My Noah wasn't at war, he was a criminal serving time for a serious crime, and I sure as h.e.l.l wasn't anybody's Allie.

I didn't have money or a rich fiance.

No, all I had was a stack of bills longer than both my arms, and a best friend who was more emotionally f.u.c.ked up and closed off than I was.

Tucking the envelope back into my coat pocket, I closed my eyes and whispered, ”Happy birthday, Noah.”

”KILL ME NOW.”

The half snarl, half roar that came from Hope's bedroom was my first warning of trouble.

The large stuffed gorilla she slept with at night being hurled halfway across the landing from her room into mine was my second.

”What's wrong?” I dared to ask, unsure if I really wanted to know.

”I've lost sixty thousand words,” she hissed, stalking into my bedroom, looking somewhat deranged with her hair in knots and standing up in forty different directions. ”Gone, freaking lost. Forever. That's what's wrong.”

With a yodel of sheer despair, Hope threw herself down on my bed beside me and grabbed my pillow. ”That piece of c.r.a.p computer just crashed again and wiped all of my work again. I have a deadline I can't meet, I have obligations I can't fulfill, and now I'm officially screwed,” she moaned, covering her face with my pillow as she lay on the flat of her back. ”All that work for nothing. Just leave me here to rot. I'm done. I quit. I retire.”

I told you to back up your work, was on the tip of my tongue, but I forced myself to refrain.

Hope was right about one thing.

Her computer was a piece of c.r.a.p.

It had been giving her trouble for months now. ”Don't be so dramatic, Hope. You work for yourself and your readers will understand if you need to push the date back a few months. So just calm your s.h.i.+t and buy a new computer,” I told her. She really needed an upgrade. ”But maybe take a shower before you go into town.” I took a quick whiff of my friend and gagged. ”I get that you're in your hermit, locked-in-the-house writer mode, but I think you should get out of the apartment for a day.” With me, I silently added. I knew full well why Hope preferred to hang around with her new friends; they didn't remind her of the past. They didn't know about Jordan, and she could pretend when she was with them. G.o.d knows, I understood it, but I didn't like it. Hope was vulnerable and I hated to see her being taken advantage of.

”You don't get it, Teegs,” she moaned, ignoring the shower part. ”I started on that one I wrote my very first book on that piece of c.r.a.p. It holds sentimental value. And I don't want to jinx myself. For all I know I've been incredibly lucky. That computer could be my lucky charm.”

I rolled my eyes. ”You're not lucky, you're b.l.o.o.d.y talented.” Jumping off the bed, I reached forward and grabbed her hand, pulling her miserable, stinky, overgrown a.s.s off my bed. ”The words are in here,” I told her, tapping her head, ”not in that piece of s.h.i.+t plastic in there.”

I was used to Hope's crazy writer mode, and I understood when she needed to dive into a book and stay there, but she was like a dazzled baby bunny when she came back up for air.

This time was more severe than usual. Hope only got this bad around the anniversary. It kind of ruined her, and her being ruined kind of saved me from going down that similar spiral.

”I don't know,” she mumbled, tugging on the sleeves of her hoodie the same hoodie she had been wearing since Wednesday.

”Well then it's a good thing I do,” I countered. ”Come on,” I told her. ”Clean your a.s.s up and we'll hit the shops.”

”I do need ink cartridges,” she offered, slightly optimistic at the thought of our shopping spree. ”And some sharpies too.”

”Yes.” I nodded, as I shoved her towards the bathroom. ”We can get all of those and more. Just clean yourself up first.”

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