Read Online Olivia Christakos and Her Second First Time by Dani Irons - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Dani Irons
Ads: Link
It wasn’t exactly what I told him to say, but it would do. I might have traumatized him.
He didn’t talk to me after that for like two weeks.
Chapter Nine
Now
It must be sometime in the middle of the night when the pain wakes me—my ribs are stabbing my insides. The medicine from earlier has worn off and I don’t have the energy to shout for help. The room is thick with darkness, the heavy curtains on the one window choking out any moon or streetlight. I’m facing the wall with my eyes open, listening to someone breathe rhythmically behind me. If I wasn’t already freaked out about sleeping in a stranger’s house, knowing someone is watching me attempt it makes me want to jump in front of a car again.
What I’ve learned about myself so far: I have a Greek goddess with a permanently pinched face for a mom, a dad who’s protective of her, a pushy little sister and a dorky but steady boyfriend. I go to school but don’t know what I want to do after I graduate. I got hit by someone who thought it was a good idea to drink and drive. I have a best friend, but she hasn’t shown up yet. I like clothes, celebrities and television...I guess. I look a lot like my mom and have a third nipple. Well, sort of. Someone looking into my life might think,
it could be much worse.
But what’s worse than not having any memory of the people you are supposed to love, to blindly trust? What is worse than not knowing yourself?
Plus, there has to be some reason I don’t visit often. I wish there was a light switch to my brain, my memory, that I could flip back on.
The rhythmic breathing of the person behind me changes as they shift in their seat. A hand pets my hair. Without thinking, I shrink away from the motherly touch.
Cora. Mom.
But the voice that whispers “Sorry” isn’t Cora. I roll over, the pain bouncing through my body like a rubber ball, and watch Natalie’s shadow slink back into the overstuffed chair next to my bed. The chair looks out of place in the room—big, brown and worn out. Like a coffee stain on a white blouse. Maybe they took it out of another room for the sole purpose of spying on me while I sleep.
“Don’t you have your own room?” I ask Natalie, the words tumbling out sharper than I mean them. It seems like I’m in a constant state of bitchiness, but I promise myself to rein it in around Natalie. I can tell she cares about me by the way her eyes light up when I look at her, which is the reason I don’t keep my gaze on her for very long. Her excitement isn’t exactly visible in the dark, but it shrouds her.
“I wanted to be here,” she says. “I missed you.”
I can’t even make out Natalie’s outline, much less any sincerity that might be in her eyes, and her words have a creepy effect in the darkness. I sit up and fumble with the lamp by the bed. After a few failed attempts at turning it on, Natalie walks over and taps the top with her fingers. The lamp pops on.
“Oh,” I say. Orangey-yellowness surrounds us in a circle of light.
“It’s a touch lamp.” She’s wearing a black T-shirt with the words
Christakos Creatives
written in white block letters and pink shorts that look like they’re made from an old towel. She looks both older and younger than she is.
Two white pills sit next to the lamp—my painkillers—and a fresh glass of water. I push myself up, the pain in my ribs making me dizzy, and reach for the pills with my good, but shaky, hand. I’m able to grab one but the other falls onto the carpet silently. Natalie picks it up.
“Thanks,” I murmur as she hands it to me.
“You’re welcome!” Her voice is too loud for the room and I hide my grimace. The concussion has left me with a headache. “Remember anything yet?”
I shake my head and push the pills into my mouth. The act of drinking water feels like I’m swallowing razor blades.
“No dreams?”
“Just one about...some blond guy,” I say, my pain cutting the sentence in two. I wait to see if
He didn’t talk to me after that for like two weeks.
Chapter Nine
Now
It must be sometime in the middle of the night when the pain wakes me—my ribs are stabbing my insides. The medicine from earlier has worn off and I don’t have the energy to shout for help. The room is thick with darkness, the heavy curtains on the one window choking out any moon or streetlight. I’m facing the wall with my eyes open, listening to someone breathe rhythmically behind me. If I wasn’t already freaked out about sleeping in a stranger’s house, knowing someone is watching me attempt it makes me want to jump in front of a car again.
What I’ve learned about myself so far: I have a Greek goddess with a permanently pinched face for a mom, a dad who’s protective of her, a pushy little sister and a dorky but steady boyfriend. I go to school but don’t know what I want to do after I graduate. I got hit by someone who thought it was a good idea to drink and drive. I have a best friend, but she hasn’t shown up yet. I like clothes, celebrities and television...I guess. I look a lot like my mom and have a third nipple. Well, sort of. Someone looking into my life might think,
it could be much worse.
But what’s worse than not having any memory of the people you are supposed to love, to blindly trust? What is worse than not knowing yourself?
Plus, there has to be some reason I don’t visit often. I wish there was a light switch to my brain, my memory, that I could flip back on.
The rhythmic breathing of the person behind me changes as they shift in their seat. A hand pets my hair. Without thinking, I shrink away from the motherly touch.
Cora. Mom.
But the voice that whispers “Sorry” isn’t Cora. I roll over, the pain bouncing through my body like a rubber ball, and watch Natalie’s shadow slink back into the overstuffed chair next to my bed. The chair looks out of place in the room—big, brown and worn out. Like a coffee stain on a white blouse. Maybe they took it out of another room for the sole purpose of spying on me while I sleep.
“Don’t you have your own room?” I ask Natalie, the words tumbling out sharper than I mean them. It seems like I’m in a constant state of bitchiness, but I promise myself to rein it in around Natalie. I can tell she cares about me by the way her eyes light up when I look at her, which is the reason I don’t keep my gaze on her for very long. Her excitement isn’t exactly visible in the dark, but it shrouds her.
“I wanted to be here,” she says. “I missed you.”
I can’t even make out Natalie’s outline, much less any sincerity that might be in her eyes, and her words have a creepy effect in the darkness. I sit up and fumble with the lamp by the bed. After a few failed attempts at turning it on, Natalie walks over and taps the top with her fingers. The lamp pops on.
“Oh,” I say. Orangey-yellowness surrounds us in a circle of light.
“It’s a touch lamp.” She’s wearing a black T-shirt with the words
Christakos Creatives
written in white block letters and pink shorts that look like they’re made from an old towel. She looks both older and younger than she is.
Two white pills sit next to the lamp—my painkillers—and a fresh glass of water. I push myself up, the pain in my ribs making me dizzy, and reach for the pills with my good, but shaky, hand. I’m able to grab one but the other falls onto the carpet silently. Natalie picks it up.
“Thanks,” I murmur as she hands it to me.
“You’re welcome!” Her voice is too loud for the room and I hide my grimace. The concussion has left me with a headache. “Remember anything yet?”
I shake my head and push the pills into my mouth. The act of drinking water feels like I’m swallowing razor blades.
“No dreams?”
“Just one about...some blond guy,” I say, my pain cutting the sentence in two. I wait to see if
Similar Books
