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How dare you break my mind too, Penn?
And it is breaking. The cracks formed that night and with each passing second, I feel them snaking through me. They grow deeper and spread farther apart.
I don’t know what’s happening.
But it’s all his fault.
Penn
I wake to a pounding in my skull and a throbbing in my hand. As I blink away sleep, reality seeps into me like poison. With each memory of last night, I realize just how badly I messed up.
My hand is broken. I might need surgery. It hurts like hell. Dad and Coach are going to be pissed when they find out.
And Leah?
God, I really shouldn’t have kissed her. For a moment, it felt right. Because alcohol was fueling me. Now that I’m sober, I feel like a jerk for leading her on. I owe her an apology and an explanation.
The worst yet…
Copeland.
Even thinking his name hurts. But seeing him? Smelling him? Having him touch me? Last night was both the most torturous night and the happiest. It was painful to be around him, but I soaked up every second of it.
When he stuck his hand in my pocket… A groan rumbles from me at the memory. Then, his hot breath at my ear as he stood too close and whispered taunting words at me. The energy buzzing through my veins was unreal. It was always Cope who made me feel alive in this dead world. Now, having him in my life after one night, I’m addicted again. Needing another hit. My body responds to my traitorous thoughts and I adjust myself in my basketball shorts.
Focus.
Call Leah.
I reach for my phone and fumble to see if I missed any calls or texts.
Brett: Where’d you go? Someone said you and Max fought?
Brett: Where are you?
Brett: Text me and let me know you’re okay.
Quickly, I respond with a text to assure him I’m alive. Barely, but still kicking. I then text my dad asking for Leah’s number. Today is a golf day for him, so I don’t expect an immediate response. But, surprising me, he replies with her number and says I should invite her and her parents for dinner. Ignoring him, I text Leah.
Me: I’m sorry about last night.
She replies right back.
Leah: You could make it up to me. Dinner and a movie?
Me: I think I gave you the impression I wanted to be more than friends.
Leah: Friends can eat and watch movies. Are you okay?
Me: I’ll be fine. And that sounds good. Maybe later tonight? I need to get my Jeep from school.
Leah: It’s a non-date. I’ll text you show times later. I’m glad you’re okay.
When we’re done, I get up and take a piss. I can only wash one hand because a bright green cast is on the other. Bile churns in my stomach. I don’t want to deal with Dad or Coach about this. The throbbing hurts, so I hunt down my pain meds. I’m careful to hide them after because it wouldn’t be the first time my mom stole medicine from me.
I take a quick, awkward shower with my arm sticking outside the curtain and then clumsily pull on some track pants, deciding it’s easier than dealing with jeans. I need to wear one of my football hoodies when I go out later and hope I can hide my cast until I can figure out how to break it to my dad.
My head is still throbbing and I don’t want to deal with my mom, so I fall back onto the bed. I swipe at the water droplets still on my chest from my shower as my mind wanders back to last night. He said I should text him. Hell, I’m tempted. Everything in me says to back up, but I crave to hear from him. Last night was such a tease. Gritting my teeth, thankful for the pain meds in my system, I type out a text. The first text in years.
Me: Can you run me by my Jeep later?
After I hit send, my stomach tenses up. I cringe at what his reply could be. Fifteen minutes go by with no response and I let out a heavy sigh before closing my eyes.
“You look like shit.”
I jolt and jerk my head to the offending voice. Any words I could have said die in my throat as Copeland strolls into my room like old times. He looks too good in a pair of dark jeans and fitted black Henley. His ball cap is flipped backward in a way he wore it all the time when we were younger.
“How did you get in my house?” I grumble, trying not to check out his ass as he walks over to the mirror.
“Same way I always got in,” he says as he checks over his appearance. “With my key.”
He turns and regards me, his eyes roaming up my bare chest. I try not to squirm under his gaze. His nostrils flare as though he’s disgusted with me. Am I that transparent? Can he see how much I still want him? Shame burns through me. I wasn’t lying last night when I said I wish I could take it all back. More than anything, I wish I could rewind and undo that kiss. It’s been a prison sentence ever since.
