Series: Webs We Weave Series by Krista Ritchie
Total pages in book: 147
Estimated words: 145038 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 725(@200wpm)___ 580(@250wpm)___ 483(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 145038 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 725(@200wpm)___ 580(@250wpm)___ 483(@300wpm)
She flips a page.
“Hailey?” I ask again.
“Yeah.”
“She doesn’t know what she’s responding to,” Rocky tells me, coming over to us. It’s very clear Hailey is about one-tenth listening to me and zero-tenths listening to Rocky. She’s tuning out her surroundings to concentrate on these dusty texts.
Rocky grabs a faded gray book.
“St-stop,” Hailey stammers. “Put it back, Rocky. Please.”
“Put it back,” I tell him. Her distress is like a knife in my gut, and I want to yank the blade out like right now.
Rocky gives me a sharp look. “I’m not hurting it.” He examines the title on the spine. “Why would Jake lend you a book on the history of Victoria’s seaports?”
“I-I can’t…Put the book back. Put it back.” She’s on the verge of shaking. “Phoebe.”
I stand. “Rocky.” I’m a second from tugging the novel out of his hands.
His gaze darkens. He passes me to set the novel on the stack. She relaxes, but he whisper-sneers against my ear, “You’re not helping her.”
“Neither are you,” I sneer back. We’re both hot blooded over how best to take care of her. There’ve been a few instances where I’ve seen Hailey spiral this way, but not enough that Rocky and I have a well-formulated mode of action to help her. And when she’s pleading for me, how can I not come to her aid? How can I not do what she asks?
His hand stays on the small of my back, and we both take a few silent breaths, trying to extinguish the heat. Being pent up with aggravation isn’t going to help her either.
Hailey muffles her ears with her hands. Not wanting to even hear us anymore. She’s just skimming the books at rapid-fire speed.
I lower back into the seat.
“We need to take the books away,” Rocky says.
“She’ll freak out.”
“She won’t stop reading.”
“You know she’ll just go grab her computer and do research.”
“Then we take her fucking computer.”
“I’m not locking her in a padded room!” I shout, and my throat swells painfully.
Rocky rakes two hands through his dyed-black hair. He’s torn up. “She’s not blinking.”
I know.
I know.
I manage to croak out, “We’re not doctors, Rocky. We don’t know what’s right.”
“You don’t leave a drug addict with a syringe and a vial.”
He’s not saying she’s addicted to books, but obviously she’s obsessing over them right now. My face twists at the idea of removing the subject of her hyperfixation. “What if it makes things worse? What if it’s not what you’re supposed to do in this situation?”
“Well, it’s not like she can go to a fucking psychologist and figure it out.” His bitterness drips off the words. Just another product of our criminal upbringings, really. We can’t unleash our history on a doctor without basically sending ourselves to jail.
It sort of feels like the six of us live in a Middle Ages fantasy world like Westeros, where physicians wouldn’t have a modern diagnosis. They’d probably just think Hailey lost her mind.
“Phoebe,” Rocky says, trying to sound gentle (he sucks at it). “We’ll never know if it’s the wrong or right thing unless we try.”
“Okay, okay,” I agree, but my ribs are squeezing around my lungs. Together, Rocky and I swoop in and scoop up the hardbacks.
“N-no, no, please. Phoebe.” Her breathing pattern sounds hoarse and awful. Like she’s sucking in a plastic bag.
“Rocky, I can’t.” It hurts. My entire body is being crushed, and I immediately place the books within his sister’s reach. “I’m sorry.” I can’t even look at him. Defeated, I take a stiff seat beside Hailey and do my best not to cause her more panic.
Rocky lets out a deep sigh. When his hand suddenly warms the back of my neck, I ease at the unexpected comfort. I look up at him, but his gaze is planted on his sister.
“You might be right,” he says.
I shake my head, feeling like I’m making this worse.
“Just try talking to her, Phebs.”
I swallow a lump in my throat and shift closer to my friend. “Hailey? How long have you been awake?”
She mutters to herself. I think she’s reading out loud.
“When did you go see Jake?” I ask.
Nothing.
Rocky is a rigid tower beside me.
She’s not covering her ears again, so I take this as a sign we’re making progress. Baby steps. “Hey, can you tell me what you’re reading?”
“St-stuff about Connecticut. The history…” She scoots farther into the table, practically pressing her face into the book. The chain on her black cargo pants jingles while her leg jostles. “I’m-I’m figuring it out.” She rubs at her watery eye and flips another page. “I’m going to figure it out.”
“Figure what out?” I ask.
“Who we are.”
The bottom of my stomach drops.
Rocky shifts his weight. “What does Connecticut have to do with that?”
“I-I don’t know yet.” She blinks a few times. Good. Yes! Keep blinking, you beautiful genius. “We can’t trust…we can’t believe anything. She-she might’ve even lied about her blood type, and then who knows what anymore? We know nothing. We know nothing.” Her eyes are glazed, staring off into the middle of the room.