Page 5 of Bullet
Jesus, how much did I drink last night? Did I really pass out before brushing my teeth?
The only reason I know I’m at home is because my bedding smells like me.
How the fuck did I get here, though?
As soon as the thought enters my mind, it leaves.
I don’t even have to question it. Once again, Bullet came to my rescue, even though I didn’t ask him to. Knowing him, he dragged me out of that party by my hair.
And knowing my luck, one of the assholes there took a video of it and posted it on the internet again.
Great. Just great.
I groan into my pillow. Just when I think my life couldn’t get any more embarrassing.
Not only am I the girl whose mom died, but the one who’s constantly dragged out of parties by a biker.
“Come on, Harlee. You need to get up or you’ll be late to class.”
Turning my head, I glare at him. “Why do you care?” I mumble.
“Because someone has to. Now come on.” He reaches out and brushes hair out of my face.
“I don’t want to,” I whine.
“Yeah, well, sometimes we have to do shit we don’t want to. Besides, you’re almost done. It’s finals week, and as long as you pass your classes, you’ll graduate,” he huffs.
“Ah, yes, I almost forgot that I need that stupid fucking piece of paper. As soon as it’s in my hands, I’m out of here and never looking back.”
Bullet doesn’t even try to hide his wince. For a split second, I feel bad, but then the feeling fades. He knows I’m leaving. Everyone does.
Well, my dad might not.
No, I’m almost certain he doesn’t know about my plans. Besides, it’s not like he cares.
The day my mom died, I lost my dad, too. It was like he forgot about me and lost himself in his grief. I don’t even remember the last time he was sober, let alone had a conversation with me.
And it fucking kills.
Nineteen and an orphan.
What makes it worse is he’s still physically alive. I still see him. We still live in the same house but never communicate. Some days I think it would be easier if he weren’t alive. At least then I could grieve them both without it hurting as much.
Everyone keeps telling me that with time, the pain will ease, but I don’t think that’s true. Not as long as he’s alive. I won’t heal. I won’t move on. That’s why I need to escape.
“As soon as graduation is over, I’m getting into my car and driving as far from here as possible.”
Pain flickers through Bullet’s eyes. Quickly, he tries to hide his reaction, and once again, I feel bad.
Before my mom died, I thought Bullet was the hot guy from the clubhouse. The one who was just a little bit older than me. Despite our age difference, and my father’s warnings, we became friends. Next thing I knew, he was my best friend, and I liked to think I was his as well.
I told him all my secrets and dreams. He told me about his family and the things he wanted in life. Our conversations came easy.
Then she died.
He held me when he told me she was in an accident, then again as I broke down when the doctors told us she was gone. He stood by me at the funeral and then held me back when I wanted to jump into the grave with her.
That one accident changed everything between us.
