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“Guy, I—”
“You’re being clingy.”
“Clingy?”
He’s never accused me of being clingy…until Khaos put that in his head.
“I let you do cheer without guilting you about your schedule. Stop riding me about mine.”
“You…let…me?” And he’s always guilting me about my schedule. Literally always. That’s why he was so annoyed about my summer job because summer’s when I make up for all the practices and lifts and games and competitions and everything else cheer entails that keeps me away from him.
“Especially since you wouldn’t ride me downstairs,” he mutters.
“So that is why you’re mad.”
“I’m not mad. I’m just…the busy one now and you can’t handle it.”
On the verge of tears, I admit, “I can’t handle you being mad at me.”
He sighs. “Go do your stuff. I’ll go do mine. And we’ll talk later, okay?”
We’ll talk later?
We’ll talk later?
“Fine,” I say through a cramp in my stomach, knowing nothing about this is fine, least of all me.
Five, six, seven, eight.
One, two. On three, I bring my arms down into an X while bending my knees. Four, I swing my arms out wide into a T at the same time I jump up, one leg straight out in front of me in a toe-touch position, the other bent the opposite way. Five, I’m back on the floor, knees bent, my arms down along my sides. Six, my body is ramrod straight, my core tight. Technically, my core is always tight during cheer. With how often my stomach is flexed, it would be impossible not to have abs.
“Twenty-five,” I say out loud. Seventy-five more to go.
While “Angry Too” by Lola Blanc plays through the built-ins, my mind wanders to Guy and what he might be doing right now.
Twenty-six.
I could’ve been with him. Instead, I’m stuck here, doing what I always do. Being the dutiful daughter, the star student, the dedicated athlete. None of it good enough for my mom.
Twenty-seven.
Not even good enough for Guy. He left me. He left me knowing how much being home alone bothers me.
Twenty-eight.
I could call a friend. Who? All my friends are tied to either Guy or cheer.
I’ve never hung out with Ever Munreaux outside of cheer. I love her. The problem is I’m pretty sure her bodyguard, Crue, loves her more and judging by his refusal to leave her side every time I catch sight of them at Littoral, it wouldn’t be a true girls’ night. Plus, it is late. And what if Guy finishes early and calls me, wanting to come over? I’d have to ditch Ever—and her broody shadow—and I wouldn’t even have a good excuse for why.
Twenty-nine.
Because I’m scared. I’m scared to be by myself in this gigantic house. I’m scared to go to sleep in it. Scared to wake up in it. I’m scared, I’m scared, I’m scared!
Thirty. Seventy to go.
I’ve tried not to be. So hard. This house is huge and loud. Not the sounds in it, because there usually aren’t any, but from it. The walls and floors creak and moan no matter the hour. It’s easier to ignore during the day, but at night, it’s impossible not to hear, to feel how miserable this house is just existing. Anyone who doesn’t believe houses have energy hasn’t been in mine. Its suffering is palpable and, without anyone in it to drown out its complaints, audible.
Thirty-one.
