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Peaches.
Snow Globe.
Fantasy.
Obsession.
Unhealthy.
And the very latest is my favorite.
Bloody Idiot.
No clue why I had his number for years when I never called or texted him. I guess knowing he was in there was enough before.
Now, it’s not.
So what if he didn’t have my number? If he wanted to change that, he could’ve asked Astrid for it. Despite my strained relationship with my stepsister, we do have each other’s numbers.
But then again, she’s the reason he ignored me all summer. That night, Astrid was involved in a hit-and-run whose culprit remains free.
They found ecstasy in her bloodstream, due to the shot Daniel snatched from me and gave to her. Uncle Henry has been mad at her for doing drugs.
To be fair, I’m sorry about that, but not enough to out myself in front of Uncle Henry. Mum would kill me. Well, not exactly, but being disappointed in me is no different than that.
After my peaches incident, she didn’t speak to me for three months and only got back to talking to me when Uncle Henry started to notice. I still have nightmares about that.
If she hears I’m the one who unintentionally drugged Astrid, she’ll think of ways to erase me from her existence.
And I’m kind of invisible to someone else so I don’t need that double torture.
Besides, ever since her accident, Astrid has possessed Daniel’s attention worse than his favorite tacky action films.
As a result, he hasn’t looked at me, hasn’t spoken to me, and certainly hasn’t spent any alone time with me.
It doesn’t help that he was at a football camp for most of the summer.
But even after we got back to school, he just ignored my existence as if I no longer existed.
He’s back to being Royal Elite’s heartthrob, a charming athlete, and Astrid’s side piece.
I don’t even recognize myself around her anymore. Sometimes, I catch myself genuinely wanting to hurt her. Genuinely wishing she never came around.
Genuinely wanting to push her into the pool.
Those thoughts were scary.
My feelings for Daniel were even scarier.
If I was willing to go that far to have him, what did that make me? Desperate? Obsessive?
An unstable lunatic?
Maybe it’s a combination of all three.
And the worst problem is that I can’t put an end to these toxic, hate-infested thoughts.
Or the emotions behind them.
