Mirrors (Reflections Book 1) by A.L. Woods

Author:A.L. Woods [Woods, A.L.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2020-10-27T18:30:00+00:00

CHAPTER NINETEEN

I woke up in a bad fucking mood.

I had managed to get about four hours of intermittent sleep. I spent the first few restless, unsuccessful hours with eyes wide open, tracking the glow of my alarm clock on my dresser across the room, watching as the LED digits turned from two to three, three to four, and four to five. I listened to the furnace turn on and off, pushing a vortex of warm air into my bedroom that made me sweat. When I wasn’t looking at the clock, I was engaged in a staring contest with my phone, willing the damn thing to vibrate, ring, implode, anything. When I fell asleep somewhere around five-fifteen, I accepted that she wasn’t going to reply to my text asking her to let me know when she got home. She didn’t owe me an explanation, whether I felt I deserved one or not.

I woke up to the sound of birds chirping and blinding sunlight streaming through my parted blinds.

Pathetic fallacy, my ass.

Anticipation fluttered in my chest when I reached for my phone, but it left me as quickly as it had arrived. My messages were empty, the lone sent message hanging there, unanswered and ignored. I had no idea why I was even bothering at this point to hold onto false hope. She had made her choice. I didn’t know who Terry was, or that mean motherfucker Dom who looked like a criminal, or the shadowy figure looming by an old Mercedes who I assumed was “Cash,” yet never dared to cross the distance between us to confront me. He had leaned there, looking aloof but chest puffed out with pride, as if he had won. And I guess in a way, he had. Raquel had left with them, not me—the guy she’d just kissed like her life had depended on it.

The urge to throw up had my throat working, my insides wrenching with warning, mind spinning with all kinds of hypotheticals that I had exhausted hours earlier. Just like that, any hope of having a good day had taken a fucking leave of absence because I was pissed again.

Kicking the sheets back, I lumbered out of bed, my bare feet working the wide plank floors of my bedroom. I dipped into the hallway and noticed Trina’s door was still shut, a line of darkness beneath her door. She’d already been passed out when I got home, for which I was grateful. I wasn’t up for Twenty Questions last night.

The kitchen in my house was a stark contrast from the kitchen at the colonial. Black cabinetry wrapped around the kitchen against the gray hardwood floors, white granite countertops gleaming in the sunlight that poured in from the wide window over the kitchen sink. I was damn near compelled to draw every single curtain, blind, and shutter in this house shut, but I thought better of it. I could probably afford the sobering reminder that not everything in my life was grim, and at least the sun still shone, the world still turned, and life as I knew it carried on.

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