Read Online Erasing Faith by Julie Johnson - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Julie Johnson
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had stretched on for too long. But I couldn’t.
“Hey, you still with me?” Earl’s voice invaded the moment and my eyes flew back to his face.
“Yeah, sorry,” I said, my heart thundering in my chest. “Spaced out for a minute there. What were you saying?”
“I was telling you about snowboarding at my dad’s chalet in Switzerland.”
“Oh, right,” I murmured. “Carry on.”
Happily back on track, Earl launched once more into his monologue of self-congratulation, and I let my impatient eyes fly back to the lakeshore. But there was no easel on the bank. No brushes scattered on the ground. And no handsome artist, painting my night a little brighter with his mere presence.
Maybe he hadn’t been there at all.
Maybe I was imagining him again, like I had in the club the other night.
I sighed and turned back to Earl, my chin resting in my palm as I counted down the seconds until the next bell.
Chapter Ten: WESTON
A WATERY GRAVE
I picked this spot on purpose.
I knew she’d be here. Just like I’d known she’d be at the club the other night, and at the café last week. I was fully aware that if I sat here long enough, she’d grow so bored with whatever moron was currently chatting her ear off, she’d let her gaze wander down to meet mine.
Just because I was prepared for it, didn’t make it any easier, though.
When you jump into a really cold body of water, there’s a moment when the breath is stolen from your lungs, when the icy waves close over your head like a liquid tomb. It’s bone-chilling. It hits you like a kick to the stomach. Like knives piercing your skin. You choke in a lungful of ocean, push your way to the surface, and assure yourself that you’ll adjust. That the shock will wear off and, eventually, your body will go numb enough that you don’t feel the frigid water lapping at every inch of you.
Every time my eyes locked on Faith Morrissey’s, it was like jumping into the fucking Arctic Sea: instant shock to the system.
Except it didn’t go away.
There was no adjusting to her. No way to numb her effect or ignore her influence on my body.
It wasn’t pleasant — drowning never was. I hated her for it. I fought against her hold on me, but I couldn’t shake her. I couldn’t prevent her effect any more than a drowning man could resist gasping for one last mouthful of air when he was 10,000 leagues underwater. Though it promised certain death, that final, fatal gasp for air was unavoidable.
I was drowning in the ocean that was Faith Morrissey.
***
I let her spot me on the bank, but only for a moment.
Just long enough to peak her interest further. She was a little more skittish than most of my targets — I wanted to make sure she was truly on the line before I set my hook and reeled her in.
Hidden from view in the shadows, I watched her for another minute. Her chin was planted in one palm and her eyes glazed over as her sixth match of the night talked on.
What a prick. He was more interested in regaling her with his life story than he was in getting to know her. She could’ve been anyone — he didn’t care, so long as she had ears and was forced to listen to him talk for five, uninterrupted minutes. I knew his type. The melody of his own voice was his favorite sound in the world.
Maybe if he pulled his head out of his ass for thirty seconds, he’d realize what he was missing. He’d learn that the girl sitting across from him was bright and beautiful, fierce and funny as hell. But he didn’t. Like the five who’d come before him, he ignored her. He didn’t see her at all. And, as the minutes ticked by, I watched her slowly deflate, gradually retreating into herself as though their asinine behavior was somehow her fault. As though she was the one with something to be ashamed of, rather than those useless pricks.
Seeing her like that — diminished by this parade of assholes who’d never be good enough for her — pissed me off beyond measure. I didn’t
“Hey, you still with me?” Earl’s voice invaded the moment and my eyes flew back to his face.
“Yeah, sorry,” I said, my heart thundering in my chest. “Spaced out for a minute there. What were you saying?”
“I was telling you about snowboarding at my dad’s chalet in Switzerland.”
“Oh, right,” I murmured. “Carry on.”
Happily back on track, Earl launched once more into his monologue of self-congratulation, and I let my impatient eyes fly back to the lakeshore. But there was no easel on the bank. No brushes scattered on the ground. And no handsome artist, painting my night a little brighter with his mere presence.
Maybe he hadn’t been there at all.
Maybe I was imagining him again, like I had in the club the other night.
I sighed and turned back to Earl, my chin resting in my palm as I counted down the seconds until the next bell.
Chapter Ten: WESTON
A WATERY GRAVE
I picked this spot on purpose.
I knew she’d be here. Just like I’d known she’d be at the club the other night, and at the café last week. I was fully aware that if I sat here long enough, she’d grow so bored with whatever moron was currently chatting her ear off, she’d let her gaze wander down to meet mine.
Just because I was prepared for it, didn’t make it any easier, though.
When you jump into a really cold body of water, there’s a moment when the breath is stolen from your lungs, when the icy waves close over your head like a liquid tomb. It’s bone-chilling. It hits you like a kick to the stomach. Like knives piercing your skin. You choke in a lungful of ocean, push your way to the surface, and assure yourself that you’ll adjust. That the shock will wear off and, eventually, your body will go numb enough that you don’t feel the frigid water lapping at every inch of you.
Every time my eyes locked on Faith Morrissey’s, it was like jumping into the fucking Arctic Sea: instant shock to the system.
Except it didn’t go away.
There was no adjusting to her. No way to numb her effect or ignore her influence on my body.
It wasn’t pleasant — drowning never was. I hated her for it. I fought against her hold on me, but I couldn’t shake her. I couldn’t prevent her effect any more than a drowning man could resist gasping for one last mouthful of air when he was 10,000 leagues underwater. Though it promised certain death, that final, fatal gasp for air was unavoidable.
I was drowning in the ocean that was Faith Morrissey.
***
I let her spot me on the bank, but only for a moment.
Just long enough to peak her interest further. She was a little more skittish than most of my targets — I wanted to make sure she was truly on the line before I set my hook and reeled her in.
Hidden from view in the shadows, I watched her for another minute. Her chin was planted in one palm and her eyes glazed over as her sixth match of the night talked on.
What a prick. He was more interested in regaling her with his life story than he was in getting to know her. She could’ve been anyone — he didn’t care, so long as she had ears and was forced to listen to him talk for five, uninterrupted minutes. I knew his type. The melody of his own voice was his favorite sound in the world.
Maybe if he pulled his head out of his ass for thirty seconds, he’d realize what he was missing. He’d learn that the girl sitting across from him was bright and beautiful, fierce and funny as hell. But he didn’t. Like the five who’d come before him, he ignored her. He didn’t see her at all. And, as the minutes ticked by, I watched her slowly deflate, gradually retreating into herself as though their asinine behavior was somehow her fault. As though she was the one with something to be ashamed of, rather than those useless pricks.
Seeing her like that — diminished by this parade of assholes who’d never be good enough for her — pissed me off beyond measure. I didn’t
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