Fragile Line by Brooklyn Skye

Author:Brooklyn Skye
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: realistic ya, mental illness, tattoos, blackouts, dissociate identity disorder, love triangle, abuse, child abuse, scars
Publisher: Entangled Publishing, LLC (Teen)
Published: 2014-03-28T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter Thirty-nine

Scotch is much lighter in color when it comes up. More like butterscotch. I flush the toilet, crawl into bed, and, I don’t know why, but I think of a garden. Because a garden would be much nicer than where I am now.

Chapter Forty

“You look like shit.” Dani lowers beside me at the table, snatching a carrot from my salad. “Rough night?” She smiles, because she already knows what happened yesterday. The whole school does.

Courtesy of Shane or Lexi. Not sure which one, though.

I pull my hair back into a ponytail and sneak a glance across the cafeteria to Shane’s table. He’s wearing a black thermal under his West Haven Runners shirt. He’s the only one on the team who can make our orangey-red, too-wide-of-a-collar school shirt look somewhat appealing. His hands are wrapped around a water bottle. Ian’s shoveling rice into his mouth like a bulldozer beside him. If I concentrate hard enough, I can hear Shane’s voice through the haze of chatter and wrappers. He’s laughing, and the sound is musical.

“Do you miss him?” Dani’s voice startles me, and my hand knocks over my soda. The empty can clanks against the table. She sets it upright.

“He hates me,” I say with a shrug. Miss him or not, yesterday proved our relationship is truly over. He won’t ever forgive me.

She snorts, scrunching her nose. “You can’t blame him. You sort of cheated on him, then rubbed it in his face with a text message, remember?”

“She remembers,” a voice says from behind me, defensive. And protective? Or is that me just wishing we’d be back to normal? An arm reaches over my shoulder, dropping a cherry tomato into my bowl. Shane hates cherry tomatoes, can’t stand the way they squirt in his mouth when he bites into them, but I can’t turn to face him because unexpectedly a swell of immense panic overwhelms me. Grips my chest. Like claws sharply digging into my neck. My throat.

Blood. It’s everywhere. Should there be this much? I press my hand to my wrist, but it keeps coming, pooling between my fingers.

Heat sears around me. Smoke suffocating me, burying me.

Then a deep voice calls out, “Anyone in here?”

Dani’s eyeing my death grip on her water bottle. Crinkled plastic beneath my fingertips. Her gaze flicks behind me, a signal that I’m supposed to be turning around to face Shane right now.

I swallow, tugging at my neckline. Laughter and the bustle of conversation buzz about the lunchroom. Dani stabs a cucumber with her plastic fork, bites into it, avoiding the seeds.

“Um…this was left in Lexi’s car yesterday. I think it fell out of your jacket pocket.” He hands a Post-it to me, the one with a reminder from Mom about meeting with Dr. Parody again. He clears his throat. “You’re seeing a therapist?”

He would’ve had to look her name up to know what kind of doctor she was.

“Yeah,” I say, pushing that thought aside. He looked her name up because he was curious. Not for any other reason.

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