Wreck Me (Nova #4)(10)
Author: Jessica Sorensen

I’ve been exhausted all night, and like usual, the moment I set the guitar down and attempt to go to sleep, my eyes won’t shut. It’s been that way since that day a little over two years ago when my entire life—my entire world—changed.

The day I died.

The day my life started over.

The day I got a second chance.

But what that second chance is, I’m still searching for.

Finally, I can’t take my restlessness anymore and I end up going into the bathroom to take a half of a sleeping pill. I hate that I have to take it, but know there isn’t really a choice—I need to get some sleep. As soon as I swallow the pill, I hit a state of panic as I wait for it to kick in.

To calm myself down, I wander into the kitchen and sit cross-legged on the floor, right in front of the sink. Then I open the cupboard and read the note on the inside that’s written by the guy I made the exception for.

Avery,

I’m not sure if you’re okay, but I hope so. I know this is probably weird, some guy you met for like two seconds writing on your kitchen cupboard, but I just wanted to say that I hope you find the place where you can breathe, to where your soul can thrive again, to where you can be free, to where you can live again…. I never really did see the rest of the tattoo, so I’m not sure. Maybe you already have. I hope so.

It was nice meeting you. Hopefully, one day our paths will cross again.

Tristan.

a.k.a the Pretty Boy

The note always makes me smile, because it’s sweet, innocent, with no strings attached. In another life, I would have ended up with a guy just as sweet and who remained sweet even when things went to shit. Reading Tristan’s words always brings me comfort and I’m allowed to grasp onto them because Tristan is untouchable and I’ll never get caught up in dreamland with him.

As I stare at the note, I end up drifting to sleep on the kitchen floor, feeling content. But that contentment floats away the moment my eyes close.

Fire. Smoke. I’m burning alive. I can’t breathe.

Even though it takes a lot of energy, I manage to force my eyelids open from the memories. I’ve been dreaming the same thing since the night before it became a memory. The dream didn’t happen the exact same way but it was similar enough to be a forewarning. Or maybe it wasn’t so much a forewarning but my subconscious understanding that eventually that’s where my life would end up. That I could ignore the truth all I wanted, but in the end, all that rage was only going to end in flames.

But somehow I survived. A survivor of a lot. I even tattooed it on my forearm along with a cross.

Survivor.

But why did I survive?

Life?

Conner?

Myself?

Always the same questions bouncing around in my head with never a real answer.

So I look up at the stars that are just outside the window.

What were you trying to tell me that night? Why did I come back?

Like always, my only response is the sound of my beating heart, leaving me to interpret what I will with it.

Chapter 4

I feel like no one sometimes.

Tristan

I’m woken up by the sound of chirping birds, the smell of stale coffee, and a ridiculously cheery song being sung.

“Good morning sunshine, good-bye asshole,” Nova sings and Quinton laughs, all smiles and happiness as if they’re sniffing roses and skipping on rainbows.

“If that’s meant for me, it’s not funny.” I throw a pillow over my head to block out the sunlight and their cheery, lovey-dovey talk. It’s bad enough that I have to share a motel room with the two of them, but the sound of them kissing is maddening.

It’s not that I don’t enjoy their company. I do. And I have nothing against them even with our complicated past. Quinton is actually my cousin who was involved in an accident that killed my sister Ryder, something that my parents blame Quinton for because he was the driver. Me, I don’t like holding on to that kind of anger because it’s draining and too time consuming, nor do I ever want to be like my parents. Plus, it’s not going to bring Ryder back, even though I think my mother might believe otherwise.

Besides, Quinton’s not a bad guy. He’s had a shitty last few years because of the accident. Years full of drugs, homelessness, and self-destruction. In a lot of ways he’s like me, only he has darker reasons to do drugs, yet he still seems to have an easier time adjusting to life without them. Me, I struggle with my sobriety every damn day. When I’m sober, life is harder than when I’m high. When I’m sober, I feel more alone than when I’m high.

When I’m sober, I feel lost.

Plus, I don’t have a Nova by my side—the most positive person on the planet. I used to believe I was in love her, but I think I might have just been searching for love to see if it existed. I’ve pretty much moved past that now, and the belief that anyone will love me, but it doesn’t mean I like the sound of them making out.

“Would you two knock that shit off?” I grumble as I throw the pillow at them.

Nova laughs as she catches the pillow then chucks it back at me. “You should really listen to my lyrics,” she says as the pillow lands on the bed in front of me. Then she plasters on a huge smile, her blue eyes sparkling. “Good morning sunshine, good-bye asshole. It’s your new motto in life.”

“Are you calling me an asshole?” I ask as I sit up, yawning and stretching.

She suddenly looks worried. “Sorry, but you kind of were last night.”

Quinton nods in agreement as he sips his coffee. “Yes, you were.”

I stretch my arms out. “Yeah, sorry about that. It wasn’t you two. It was just… stuff.”

They give me a look, the one they get when they’re concerned that I’m about to go do a line or shoot up. The look is probably justified, but it still annoys me.

“I’m going for a run.” I toss the blankets off, grab some clean clothes from my duffel bag, and change in the bathroom. Then I head outside to take my morning jog, something I’ve been doing for the last three months in a desperate attempt to replace my drug addiction with sweat and exhaustion.

I let my legs carry me as I sprint down the side of the road. And sprint. And sprint. My feet try to outrun my past and thoughts of drugs, but my sins nip at my heels. By the time I return, I’m dripping in sweat, my shirt is drenched, my limbs ache, yet I still feel my thoughts drifting to drugs.

“Jesus, you look like you went for a swim,” Nova says when I trudge inside, panting and a little dizzy. “Are you okay?”