Total pages in book: 56
Estimated words: 52779 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 264(@200wpm)___ 211(@250wpm)___ 176(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 52779 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 264(@200wpm)___ 211(@250wpm)___ 176(@300wpm)
When I get the failing score on my second test, I expect it but it still upsets me. I’m taking tiny nibbles of toast with peanut butter on it when Rory comes in unexpectedly and takes one look at me.
“Whoa, what’s wrong?” he asks.
I open my mouth to tell him I’m fine but it doesn’t work out that way. I start to speak and the tears I’ve been trying to hold at bay just pour out of me.
“I failed the test and I’m in love with Mickey, but I can’t be with him,” I blurt out.
Rory freezes, stunned as if I’d announced that I shot everyone in the diner this morning because my eggs were cold.
“Mickey?” He says in what has to be disbelief. I’m sort of shocked he’s not screaming at me and breaking stuff at the news.
“We were together for a little while,” I manage through my sniffles.
“And you didn’t tell me?”
“Do you tell me everything?” I snap. “Besides, you’ve barely spent more than ten minutes in a room with me in the three months I’ve been home!”
“He’s fifteen years older than you for fuck’s sake, Katie!” He thunders.
“Rory, calm down. We’re both adults and it’s past tense anyway. There’s nothing for you to be mad about.”
“Nothin’ for me to be mad about my ass. My best friend messed around with my little sister,”
“Sit down and talk to me like a reasonable person, Rory. Please. I’m not a kid. I wanted to be with him.”
“He swore to me when he gave you a job that he was gonna keep you out of the Pearl, out of the line of fire. So he’s a fuckin’ liar. The only thing in this city more dangerous than being Mickey O’Halloran’s enemy is being the man himself. Some asshole tried to shoot him outside the Pearl a few weeks ago.”
“I know. I was there,” I say and immediately regret it.
“You were there? I’m gonna kill him,” he says in disbelief.
“Please just sit down and don’t go chase Mickey down and start shit.”
Pleading with him doesn’t do any good. He’s gone and out of the driveway before I even finish my sentence. It doesn’t matter to him what I want or that I was happy with Mickey. It only matters that it offends him, that he doesn’t like it. I have to accept that we’re not going to have a super close sibling relationship. Maybe it’s the age thing or maybe it’s just the way we’re built.
Instead of studying I fall asleep on the couch watching a true crime show. I wake up in the middle of the night, sweating, my heart racing from a vivid dream. I rub my eyes, sit up and try not to think about it. That works about as well as you’d expect it to. For hours after I’m seized by the icy, doomed feeling from my nightmare, the horror of it, the crushing sadness.
I can’t get the image out of my mind. In my dream I’d been so happy. I was in a hurry to meet Mickey for dinner. I waited for him at the bar, sent him a teasing text that I was going to eat all the cheese dip if he kept me waiting. When he didn’t show up and didn’t answer his phone I started calling people to see if they knew where he was. I went to the Pearl but no one had seen him for hours. Frightened, impatient I could barely stand the slowness of the elevator as it climbed. I was shaking as I tried to scan in to the crow’s nest in hope he’d left a note or some clue. It took me three tries before I got the door unlocked.
I turned the lights on to illuminate the dim room and the rusty tang of blood hit my nose before the lights flickered on completely. I saw Mickey or what was left of him slumped forward in his chair, part of his face and head gone, a horrifying, wrong shape that was bright with blood. I was screaming his name. I rushed to him, reached for his hand. It was limp and didn’t respond to my touch. The table and the front of his clothes were soaked in blood, too much of it. His hand was still warm, but I knew he was gone. I screamed and cried with terrible force as if I’d never quit.
For hours after I wake up, it’s a thought that won’t leave me alone. It’s all I can do to keep from messaging Mickey to check that he’s okay. I don’t actually believe it was a premonition or anything, but I want so much to hear his voice and be reassured that he’s alive, unhurt, and not bleeding out at this very moment. I realize this is what my life would’ve been like if I tried to stay with him despite the danger I’ve seen with my own eyes. Constant terror, clutching my phone, always waiting for the call that he’s been killed in cold blood. It would be a vicious cycle and no way to live.