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Conor:It’s okay to not be perfect. God knows I’m not. But I think we’re well suited. And, one day, just like I managed to convince you that you’re not in this fight alone, I can convince you that you’re allowed to sit back, enjoy the fruits of your labor, and LIVE.
Conor:But… that’s for the future. As for now, did Katina tell you what she wanted to wear as her trick-or-treat costume yet?
**Ten minutes later**
Conor:Star?
20
STAR
With a scream,I hurled the chair at the window.
“Not a fucking dent,” I snarled, retrieving the chair again and slamming the feet into the glass, but it made no impression.
The bulletproof glass was next level in this godforsaken house.
In the room I’d stayed in prior to this one, a room I’d been trapped in for almost three weeks after pistol-whipping the guard with his own gun, I’d tried to shoot my way out through the window, but though most of the bullets had lodged in the specialist glass, one had ricocheted off the fucking pane and had almost hit me in the shoulder.
It was one of the prettiest prisons I’d been in, with a view of the sea that was insane even if it was winter and the sky was bleak and the ocean, as a result, was moody, but it was exactly that—a fucking prison.
I let loose another scream as I tried to slam the chair into the window again, but the force of the hit made the joint securing the front legs in place weaken and tumble under the pressure.
“FUCK!”
Outraged, I stopped trying to break the window and just smashed the chair into the floor because, having looked at the clock on the wall, the only thing Ihadn’tdestroyed, I knew, yet again, I’d missed calling Kat before bedtime.
With a scream, I continued pounding the chair until I was an exhausted mass of sweat and heaving skin.
Once upon a time, I used to watch my dad destroy everything on stage—he’d slam his Fender against the ground and scream through one ofnoxxious’smost famous hits—“Community Grinds.”
The crowd hadn’t known that for that song, the last on the line-up, the shit he wrecked were stage props and that he switched guitars so the new one in his hands got trashed and not his beloved ‘Casey.’
The memory stirred something in me.
Something unbidden.
Unwanted.
It gathered in my throat.
Lodging there.
I breathed in quickly. Released the breath.
No.
I couldn’t—
The tears burned. Hot and searing. Appearing like a flash flood, devastation their intent.
I ground my teeth together, trying to hold them back, but the memory was too real. Too raw.
Casey.
My mom.
Allegedly.
