Page 131 of Alphas Like Us
I also feel like a whiney bastard silently complaining aboutsomenights where he’s gone. There are people dealing with worse separation over longer time periods and distances. And I don’t envy that. I don’t even like stomachingthis.
I pinch the bridge of my nose. Needing my brain to shut the fuck up.I reach over and grab my cell off the nightstand. No missed texts. No cousins or siblings messaged me since the last time I checked. They’re probably allasleep.
Pulling myself up, I lean more against the headboard. Floorboards and brick walls creak loudly inside the old townhouse. Tonight, heavy gusts of wind beat at the window, and my gray curtains sway back-and-forth. Tiny lights that are wrapped around the ceiling rafters startflickering.
Power might go outsoon.
To restrain myself from texting Farrow, I scroll through my little sister’s tweets. She roasts me daily on Twitter. One time I was on a late-night talk show to promote a charity event and the host had me read Kinney’s tweets outloud.
And I was happyto.
I smile at some newones.
@KinneyGothHale:Older brother has been talking about Aristotle for 30 min atbreakfast.
She included a yawning slothgif.
@KinneyGothHale:Also Moffy’s boyfriend and me are the only ones who can make fun of him. You try, youdie.
I love that my youngest sister likes Farrow. But I slow down on anothertweet.
@KinneyGothHale:1st Rainbow Brigade outing in the works. What should wedo?
She added a poll for fans to vote, but she included the same three options: bowling, bowling, andbowling.
Kinney already texted me, our cousin Tom Cobalt, and then Oscar and Farrow the details about the meet-up. She picked a date in June. LGBT PrideMonth.
I think about how my little sister will be deathly furious if Farrow is late. And I told him, “If you can’t make it, don’t let Kinney scareyou.”
He chewed his gum with a rising smile. “Man, I’m not afraid of your thirteen-year-old sister. Especially because she thinks she can commune with dead people,” he said. “I promise I’ll makeit.”
That image of his amused smile is cemented to my cerebralcortex.
Fuckit.
I text him. He already told me that if he’s busy, he’ll just ignore me. So I’m not really worried about disturbinghim.
Quickly, I type and send:thinking Ofu
I purposefully fuck-up the grammar to piss him off a bit. Wind wails, and power suddenly cuts, my clock goes blank. Room darkened, I instinctively reach for my end table—my right arm fights against the sling,fuckme.
I bite down, and I’ve had it with thisthing.
I reach behind me and tear off the Velcro that attaches the sling to my abdomen. And I pull the strap off my head. Slowly, I free my imprisoned right arm, and I throw the red sling onto thefloor.
Then I gradually lift my right arm off my thigh. The higher I go, the more pain shoots into my collarbone and batters myshoulder.
I drop my arm back and tryagain.
Better.Or maybe I’m just smothering the pain with determination. I don’tknow.
Whatever the case, I reach for the end table again with my bad arm. Purposefully this time to stretch themuscle.
I breathe a measured breath through my nose and slide the drawer open. Grabbing a flashlight. And my switchblade for extraprecaution.
Leaning back, I pick up myphone.
No newtext.
