Page 369 of Off Limits: The Firsts

I know they all think I’m out jumping. That I closed my eyes and put my finger to the map and drove to that spot. That I’m chasing the wind and being the wanderer I typically am.

But I’m not.

My car’s in the red hangar where it can’t be seen.

And I’m holed up in my apartment. Alone.

The person I’ve become fighting the urge to cut myself, while the little girl underneath screams for more of the pain she knows. The pain she needs to feel again to know she’s alive.

But I haven’t cut myself.

And I won’t.

If there’s one thing I’m going to win in this whole damn situation, it’s going to be that.

I don’t even have a desire to jump.

Grant stole that from me.

Just like he stole my heart.

My trust.

But both of them have been broken before. Both of them have wounded me, and I have survived.

The only difference this time around is my ability not to feel anything.

Because hell if right now I don’t feel everything.

So much so that it hurts.

It pisses me off more than anything because I can’t turn them off.

That I can’t run away from them when that’s all I’ve ever known how to do.

“You’re restless.”

“No shit.” I look over to Nate, who has obliged me with a drive by of Miner’s Airfield for no other reason than to see if Emerson is back.

“Just go talk to her.”

“I’ve tried.”

“Well, try harder. It’s not as if she isn’t going to notice the cruiser driving by several times this week.”

“I know. It’s just . . .”

“I know, I know. There’s more to it that I don’t understand other than you fucked up royally . . . well, royally unfuck yourself,” Nate says and shakes his head.

“Gee, thanks, Dad.” I roll my eyes and turn back onto the highway.

“Did you call her?”

“She won’t pick up.”

“Did you text her?”

“She won’t reply.”