Page 100 of Striking Range

I feel guilt for how I treated Jacob, and pity for the friends I’ve made who have to deal with my poisonous personality. I’m so confused about what I’m supposed to do with myself when all the things I’ve been doing haven’t worked.

I’ve been failing daily, without even noticing it.

And Everett… How do I cope with that? I fell in love with my best friend—now my first love—and have lost him, all in such a short period of time.

I will never get the chance to be with him again. Whether it’s tangled within my sheets, feeling the pulse of him so deep inside of me, or his loving gaze as I make him dinner—I will never get to experience his affection again.

I’m not only mourning the man I thought I had become, but the loss of my lifelong best friend. Maybe it was a stupid idea to get involved with him, but how could I not? He was—is—the center of my universe.

Until that first moment he touched me, I had no idea just how possessive and enthralled with him I truly am.

But it’s always been like this, hasn’t it? I was secretly pleased that he never dated, and his tantrums always made my heart pound. Just being around him made life that much easier.

It’s sick. This entire situation is devastating and disgusting, and I can’t seem to find my way out of it. I’m swimming blindly, searching for the surface of an endless, black sea. I’m drowning, one painful second at a time.

The silence of the room is interrupted by a clinking noise, and then the jiggling of the doorknob on my front door.

Everett.

The sound rings out once more before, suddenly, I hear his voice.

“Sky?” he shouts. “The key isn’t working.”

I do not move. I do not make a single sound. He’ll go away eventually, right?

“Sky?” he repeats. “Skylar! I know you’re home—I saw your car. What’s going on?”

There is more jiggling, more clanking, and then he’s knocking. “Hey, open up! What the hell is happening? Did you… Did you change the locks?”

I know I’m being horrible again. I know the mature thing to do is to open the door and have a civil conversation with him, but I can’t. If I see him now, I fear the tears will return. I’m scared I’ll beg him to leave her and come home to me.

Or worse, that little demon inside of me will rip him to shreds.

“Skylar! What the fuck, man! Open this door!” His voice is so loud, so angry, that I know the entire complex can hear him.

But I don’t care. In fact, in this moment, I care for very little. I just want to disappear. I want to return to the womb and start all over again.

Everett’s fist slams down onto the door one last time, so hard it rattles the frame. And then, oh so softly, he says, “Come on, puppy. Talk to me. Open up.”

Still, I do not move. I do not make a sound. I am a frozen lake, hiding from the bright sun—if I let him in now, I will evaporate into nothing but dry land.

Silence greets me again as Everett retreats, and my body relaxes into the torment of it. I return to the dreadful thoughts spinning around my brain and once again attempt to cry.

Nothing. I am an empty shell.

Or perhaps I am simply shedding my skin, ridding myself of the things that can hurt me. I’m protecting myself, the way all wounded animals do.

I cannot be faulted; I cannot be blamed.

And just as I’m becoming comfortable with this thought, this hope, that metallic sound resonates again, and the front door swings open.

I jump from the couch, the blanket falling to the floor just as Everett rounds the corner, panting in his anger.

“What the fuck, Sky?” he snaps.

“H-how did you—”

“I’ve been grabbing your packages from the front office for years now. You think they won’t give me the spare key if I say you lost yours?”