Read Online Because I'm Disposable by Rosie Somers - Free Book Online
Authors: Rosie Somers
Ads: Link
suddenly sorely underdressed in my blue jeans and black hoodie.
“No one else is here yet. Come on, I’ll show you my room.” Link placed a hand at the small of my back and gently urged me toward the stairs. I couldn’t climb them fast enough.
Link’s bedroom was exactly what I would have expected. Well, maybe a tiny bit tidier than I would expect of a sixteen-year-old boy. It was sparsely furnished, with a dresser-mirror-combo and a desk along the wall next to the door and a big bed pressed into the far corner. And the bed was made—which was more than I could say of my own room—with a blue and green plaid comforter laid out over it. A bean bag chair and a storage trunk were parked at the foot of the bed.
Dark blue curtains blocked any natural light filtering in through the windows, but the desk lamp was on to make up for the lack. Link entered first, crossing the room and sitting on the edge of his bed. Was he hoping I would join him?
My stomach immediately knotted like a pretzel. There was something too intimate about the idea of sitting next to Link on his bed. So instead, I moved to his dresser and examined the personal items there: a comb, bottle of cologne, worn leather wallet, smartphone, and a silver ashtray filled with loose change instead of cigarette butts and topped with a set of car keys. I looped my index finger through the key ring and lifted. I dangled the keys, turning them over, looking them over, then set it back down.
In the back corner, behind everything else, was a small, framed picture of Link and his family. I picked it up to examine it closer. His parents were seated together, hugging, looking so in love. Link stood behind his mother, and his sister , Lisa, was behind Mr. Devaux. They were relaxed, with a natural happiness about them. Mr. Devaux had probably never raised a hand to either of his children, ever.
“You’ve never asked me why I tried to kill myself.” I set the picture back down on his dresser and made eye contact with his reflection.
“It’s never come up.” He met my gaze dead on, but his expression was unreadable.
“You’re not even curious?”
Still no reaction. The boy would make a killing at poker. Finally, he asked, “Do you want me to know?”
My stomach flipped. I might not be able to tell what he was thinking, but he apparently could read me like a book. I sighed and continued my slow perusal of his room. When I finished with the dresser, I moved to the desk, cluttered wit h homework and random papers—so typically teenage. Just like the rest of his room. With my back still to Link, I worked up the nerve to tell the one secret I’d sworn I would never give voice to. “I’m glad he’s gone.”
“And that bothers you.” He wasn’t asking.
I nodded.
“It doesn’t make you a bad person,” he told me with certainty. “I can’t even begin to imagine what life was like with him, Callie. But, if it’s half as bad as I think it was, I can’t imagine you’d feel much other than relief.”
“Jackie Forrester has been telling people I killed him.” I turned to face Link. He might as well have been a statue, perched on the corner of his bed, watching me with a blank expression.
“Jackie Forrester is an idiot.”
“You don’t think I did it?” I suddenly wanted more than anything for Link to believe in me.
“No.” He stood and closed the distance between us, not stopping until we were almost pressed together. He set his palms on the desk behind me and leaned so close his breath brushed my forehead. “I know you didn’t do it.”
“How?” The word was a whisper between us.
“Because I know you.”
"Oh."
His lips settled on mine.
I’d anticipated the contact, but I wasn’t prepared for the shiver of exhilaration that stole down my spine. His kiss was gentle, gliding over me like the softest rain, leaving my skin prickled with gooseflesh and highly sensitive. My whole body tingled like when I rubbed my socks on the carpeting
“No one else is here yet. Come on, I’ll show you my room.” Link placed a hand at the small of my back and gently urged me toward the stairs. I couldn’t climb them fast enough.
Link’s bedroom was exactly what I would have expected. Well, maybe a tiny bit tidier than I would expect of a sixteen-year-old boy. It was sparsely furnished, with a dresser-mirror-combo and a desk along the wall next to the door and a big bed pressed into the far corner. And the bed was made—which was more than I could say of my own room—with a blue and green plaid comforter laid out over it. A bean bag chair and a storage trunk were parked at the foot of the bed.
Dark blue curtains blocked any natural light filtering in through the windows, but the desk lamp was on to make up for the lack. Link entered first, crossing the room and sitting on the edge of his bed. Was he hoping I would join him?
My stomach immediately knotted like a pretzel. There was something too intimate about the idea of sitting next to Link on his bed. So instead, I moved to his dresser and examined the personal items there: a comb, bottle of cologne, worn leather wallet, smartphone, and a silver ashtray filled with loose change instead of cigarette butts and topped with a set of car keys. I looped my index finger through the key ring and lifted. I dangled the keys, turning them over, looking them over, then set it back down.
In the back corner, behind everything else, was a small, framed picture of Link and his family. I picked it up to examine it closer. His parents were seated together, hugging, looking so in love. Link stood behind his mother, and his sister , Lisa, was behind Mr. Devaux. They were relaxed, with a natural happiness about them. Mr. Devaux had probably never raised a hand to either of his children, ever.
“You’ve never asked me why I tried to kill myself.” I set the picture back down on his dresser and made eye contact with his reflection.
“It’s never come up.” He met my gaze dead on, but his expression was unreadable.
“You’re not even curious?”
Still no reaction. The boy would make a killing at poker. Finally, he asked, “Do you want me to know?”
My stomach flipped. I might not be able to tell what he was thinking, but he apparently could read me like a book. I sighed and continued my slow perusal of his room. When I finished with the dresser, I moved to the desk, cluttered wit h homework and random papers—so typically teenage. Just like the rest of his room. With my back still to Link, I worked up the nerve to tell the one secret I’d sworn I would never give voice to. “I’m glad he’s gone.”
“And that bothers you.” He wasn’t asking.
I nodded.
“It doesn’t make you a bad person,” he told me with certainty. “I can’t even begin to imagine what life was like with him, Callie. But, if it’s half as bad as I think it was, I can’t imagine you’d feel much other than relief.”
“Jackie Forrester has been telling people I killed him.” I turned to face Link. He might as well have been a statue, perched on the corner of his bed, watching me with a blank expression.
“Jackie Forrester is an idiot.”
“You don’t think I did it?” I suddenly wanted more than anything for Link to believe in me.
“No.” He stood and closed the distance between us, not stopping until we were almost pressed together. He set his palms on the desk behind me and leaned so close his breath brushed my forehead. “I know you didn’t do it.”
“How?” The word was a whisper between us.
“Because I know you.”
"Oh."
His lips settled on mine.
I’d anticipated the contact, but I wasn’t prepared for the shiver of exhilaration that stole down my spine. His kiss was gentle, gliding over me like the softest rain, leaving my skin prickled with gooseflesh and highly sensitive. My whole body tingled like when I rubbed my socks on the carpeting
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