Page 4 of Not Made to Last

Do I care?

Not even a little bit.

I’ve already decided that her cheeks are her best feature. At least on her face. I’ll be sure to study the rest of her later.

“How bad are you hurt?” she adds, the softness in her voice conveying her concern.

“I’m all right.” I shrug, trying to play it cool, but my eyes drop to her legs, all smooth skin and thick thighs, and sure, maybe an illicit thought crosses my mind, but now’s not really the time to voice them.

Besides, she seems too nice for that.

Too pure.

Too… sweet.

Like a perfect little porcelain doll.

Breakable.

All assumptions, of course, because I don’t know shit about the girl.

I know enough, based on her clothes and the car she drives, that she doesn’t come from money, and I have no idea what she was doing in my neighborhood, and the more I think about it, the more the whole babysitting theory makes sense.

Am I being judgmental? Absolutely. But am I lying? Nah.

My phone rings, pulling me from my thoughts, and I quickly shove my hand into my hoodie pocket to retrieve it. I silence the call without ever fully comprehending who’s calling.

“Was that your parents?”

I scoff at the thought. “No.”

“Is someone looking for you?” she asks, the panic in her voice palpable. And now I’m starting to feel guilty for using her like this.

“Maybe,” I murmur. Unlikely, though. I doubt anyone partying at my house even realizes I’m gone. At that thought, I’m reminded of why I left in the first place. Quickly shoving my phone back where it belongs, I stare out the window and re-evaluate my life choices.

The party had barely reached its peak when I determined I needed to get the fuck out of there. Granted, I was the one to invite them, but still…

Here’s the thing: I live in an obnoxiously large house, and for the most part, I’m there alone.

Alone and lonely.

So, I throw these mini ragers on the fly, and people turn up. Lots of them. Most are nameless, sometimes even faceless, and it’s only once they pack the place with bodies that my sense kicks in.

Somehow, amid the awareness of being lonely, I forget the not-so-insignificant fact that I hate people. Can’t stand them, to be honest.

So, I leave.

Which is what I did tonight. I changed out of my jeans and T-shirt and got into sweats—black, to mix in with the night. I escaped through one of the guest bedroom balconies, jumping onto the roof of the first level, then leaped onto the ground like a stealthy fucking ninja. Then, I crept into the darkness of the woods surrounding my property and ran.

I had no real clue where to go, not that I ever do. I simply wanted to get as far away as possible, as soon as possible.

I wasn’t looking where I was going or what was around me. I didn’t even see the headlights. Just felt the impact. And I thought, as strange as it is, that getting hit by a car may be the best thing that could’ve happened to me tonight.

It was almost comical.

Until I felt the pain.

So, I lay on the ground, and I didn’t move. Didn’t even lift my head.

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