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Spinning, spinning, spinning
And in my head, there’s a flash of red and white, spinning so fast it melts into gray, and I’m leaning forward, and it’s?—
It’s—
Blackness.
Peace.
A flash of amber.
I slam my journal shut and glare at my fingertips brushing the piano.
Breathing heavily, I shake my head, and toss the pen and notebook aside. I bury my fingers in my hair, tugging at it.
I must’ve heard it on the radio. Forgot about it. I’ll find it.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Hell.
Absolute Hell is what this is.
Watching him with her…
Watching other guys my age date without a single fuck in the world.
Watching the world spin and spin, while I’m stuck here, trapped in time behind glass, watching, always watching…
And if I’m not watching, I’m wishing I was.
Because at least when I’m invisible, I’m not getting slurs slung at me, or the shit kicked out of me.
I’m not getting treated like the weak kid brother who can’t take care of himself.
I’d take the curse of shadows over being centerstage any day. The curse of being unseen rather than seen in the wrong light.
I can’t wait to turn eighteen and get the fuck out of this small-ass backward town. Get away from all that reminds me of what I’ll never have.
And that’s if I even survive until then…
AGE 15, MAY
“Move it, fag!”
The foul words register through the music playing in my ears a half-second before a foot jabs me right behind the knee, sending me careening forward.
My art supplies go flying, crashing to the thinly carpeted floor. Whole lotta good that does, I think bitterly, wincing at the pain rocketing up my thighs and arms when I too make a crash landing. My headphones slip off my ears, hanging skewed around my neck.
My bag gets ripped off me, jerking my arm back at an awkward angle, and I grit my teeth, seal my eyes shut, praying this ends before it can begin.
But clearly today is not my lucky day.
Ethan, Clay’s right-hand man, grips me by the hair, yanking my head back. From my headphones, I can still hear the muffled screams of Flyleaf’s “I’m So Sick.”
I glare up at the asshole, and he grins down at me, cruelty shining from his dark eyes.
Behind him, I catch Clay lifting his phone. “Smile.”
