PROLOGUE
SYDNEY
I just punched a girl in the
face. Not just any girl. My best friend. My roommate.
Well, as of five minutes ago, I
guess I should call her my ex
roommate.
Her nose began bleeding almost
immediately and for a second, I felt bad for hitting her. But then I remembered what a lying, betraying
whore she is and it made me want to punch her again. I would have if Hunter hadn’t prevented it by
stepping between us.
So instead, I punched him.
I didn’t do any damage to him, unfortunately. Not like the damage I’ve
done to my hand.
Punching hurts a lot worse than I
imagined it would. Not that I spend an
excessive amount of time imagining how it would feel to punch people. Although,
I am having that urge again as I stare down at my phone at the incoming text
from Ridge. He’s another one I’d like to punch. I know he technically has nothing to do with
my current predicament, but he could have given me a heads up a little
sooner. Therefore, I’d like to punch
him, too.
Ridge:
Are you OK? Do u want to come up until the rain stops?
Of course I don’t want to come
up. My fist hurts enough as it is, and
if I went up to Ridge’s apartment, it would hurt a whole lot worse after I
finished with him.
I turn around and look up at his
balcony. He’s leaning against his
sliding glass door, phone in hand, watching me. It’s almost dark, but the
lights from the courtyard illuminate his face and I can clearly see his concern. Or maybe it’s regret. As it should be.
I decide not to reply and flip him
off, instead. He shakes his head and
shrugs his shoulders as if to say, “I tried,” then he goes back inside his
apartment and slides his door shut. I put the phone back in my pocket before it
gets wet and I look around at the courtyard of the apartment complex in which
I’ve barely lived for two whole months.
I was so excited to finally move out of the campus dorms and now I’d
give anything to be back in them.
I’m sitting by the front entry, propped
up on the two suitcases that contain most of my belongings, waiting on a cab to
come pick me up. I have no idea where
it’s going to take me, but I know I’d rather be anywhere than where I am right
now. Which is…well, homeless.
I could call my parents, but that
would give them ammunition to start firing all the “We told you so’s,” at me.
We
told you not to move so far away, Sydney.
We
told you not to get serious with that guy.
We
told you if you had chosen pre-law over music, we would have paid for it.
We
told you to punch with your thumb on the outside of your
fist.
Okay, maybe they never taught me the
proper punching techniques, but if they’re so right all the damn time, they should have.
I clench my fist, then spread out my
fingers, then clench it again. My hand
is surprisingly sore and I’m pretty sure I should have ice on it. I feel sorry for guys. Punching sucks.
Know what else sucks? Rain.
It always finds the most inappropriate time to fall, like right now…
while I’m homeless.
The cab finally pulls up and I
stand, then bend down to pick both my suitcases up. I roll them behind me as the cab driver exits
the vehicle and pops open the trunk.
Before I even hand him the first suitcase, my heart sinks and I chuckle
at the sudden realization that my purse isn’t even on me.
Shit.
I look around, back to where I was
sitting on the suitcases, then feel around my body as if my purse is magically
about to appear across my shoulder. But
it’s not, because I know exactly where my purse is. I pulled it off my shoulder and dropped it to
the floor right before I punched Tori in her overpriced, Cameron-Diaz-shaped
nose.
I sigh. And laugh again. Of
course I left my purse. My first day
of becoming homeless would have been way too easy if I’d had a purse with
me.
“I’m sorry,” I say, looking at the
cab driver who is now loading my second piece of luggage. “I changed my mind. I
don’t need a cab right now.”
I know there’s a hotel about a
half-mile from here. If I can just work
up the courage to go back inside and get my purse, I’ll walk there and get a
room until I can figure out what to do.
It’s not like I can get any wetter.
The cab driver takes the suitcases
back out of the cab, sets them on the curb in front of me, then walks back to
the driver’s side without ever making eye contact with me. He just gets in his car and drives away, like
my canceling was the best thing that happened to him all day.
Do I look that pathetic?
I take my suitcases and walk back to
where I was seated before I realized I was purseless. I glance up to my apartment and wonder what
would happen if I went back up there to get my wallet. I sort of left things in a mess when I walked
out the door. I’d rather be homeless in
the rain than go back up to get my wallet.
I take a seat on my luggage again and
contemplate my situation. I could pay
someone to go upstairs and get my purse.
But who would I pay? No one’s
outside and who’s to say Hunter or Tori would even give them my purse?
This really sucks. I know I’m going to have to end up calling
one of my friends, but right now I’m just too embarrassed to tell anyone how
clueless I’ve been for the last two years.
I’ve been completely blindsided.
I already hate being twenty-two and
I still have 364 more days to go.
It sucks so bad that I’m…crying?
Great. I’m crying now. I’m a purseless, crying, violent, homeless
girl. And as much as I don’t want to
admit it…I think I might also be heartbroken.
Yep.
Sobbing now. Pretty sure this
must be what it feels like to have your heart broken.
“It’s raining, hurry up.”
I glance up to see a girl hovering
over me. She’s holding an umbrella over
her head and looking down at me with a hefty dose of agitation while she hops
from one foot to the other, waiting for me to do something. “I’m getting wet and it’s cold. Hurry.”
Her voice is a little demanding,
like she’s doing me some sort of favor and I’m being ungrateful. I arch an eyebrow while I look up at her,
shielding the rain from my eyes with my hand.
Of course she’s cold. She’s wearing next to nothing. I glance at
her shirt that’s missing its entire bottom half and realize she’s in a Hooter’s
outfit.
Could this day get any weirder? I’m sitting on almost everything I own in a
torrential downpour, being bossed around by a bitchy Hooter’s waitress.
I’m still staring at her shirt when
she grabs my hand and pulls me up in a huff. “Ridge said you would do
this. I’ve got to get to work. Follow me and I’ll show you where the
apartment is.” She grabs one of my
suitcases, pops the handle out and shoves it into my hand. She takes the other and walks swiftly out of
the courtyard. I follow her, for no
other reason than the fact she’s taking one of my suitcases with her and I want
it back.
She yells over her shoulder as she
begins to ascend the stairwell. “I don’t
know how long you plan on staying, but I’ve only got one rule. Stay the hell out of my room.”
She reaches an apartment and opens
the door, never even looking back to see if I’m following her. Once I reach the top of the stairs, I pause
outside the apartment, then take a hesitant step inside. The setup is similar
to my own apartment, only this one is a double split bedroom with four total
bedrooms. Mine and Tori’s apartment only
had two bedrooms, but the living rooms are the same size.
The only other noticeable difference
between this apartment and mine is that I don’t see any lying, backstabbing,
bloody-nosed whores standing in this one.
The girl sets my suitcase down
beside the door, then steps aside and waits for me to…well…I don’t know what she’s waiting for me to do.
She rolls her eyes and grabs my arm,
pulling me out of the doorway and further into the apartment. “What the hell is wrong with you? Do you even
speak?” She shoves past me and walks out of the apartment, then begins to close
the door behind her when she pauses and turns around, wide-eyed. She holds her finger up in the air and steps
back into the apartment. “Wait,” she says. “You’re not…” She rolls her eyes and
smacks herself in the forehead. “Oh my
god, you’re deaf.”
Huh? What the hell is wrong with this
girl? I shake my head and start to answer her, but she interrupts me.
“God, Bridgette,” she mumbles to herself. She rubs her hands down her face and groans,
completely ignoring the fact that I’m shaking my head. “You’re such an insensitive bitch sometimes.”
Wow.
This girl has some serious issues in
the people-skills department. She’s sort
of a bitch, even though she’s sort of making an effort not to be one. Now that
she thinks I’m…deaf. I don’t even know how to respond to her. She shakes her head as if she’s disappointed
in herself, then she looks straight at me.
“I…HAVE…TO…GO…TO…WORK…NOW!” She yells very loudly and painfully slow. I
grimace and step back, which should be a huge clue that I can hear her
practically yelling, but she doesn’t notice my retreat. She points to a door at the end of the
hallway. “RIDGE…IS…IN…HIS…ROOM!”
Before I have the chance to tell her
she can stop yelling, she leaves the apartment and closes the door behind her.
I have no idea what the hell just
happened. Therefore, I have no idea what
to think. Or what to do now. I’m standing, soaking wet, in the middle of
an unfamiliar apartment and the only person besides Hunter and Tori I feel like
punching is now just a few feet away in another room. And speaking of Ridge, why the hell did he
send his psycho Hooter’s girlfriend to get me? I take out my phone and begin to
text him when his bedroom door opens.
He walks out into the hallway with
an armful of blankets and a pillow. As
soon as he makes eye contact with me, I gasp.
Hopefully it’s not a noticeable gasp.
It’s just that I’ve never actually seen him up close before and he’s
even better looking from just a few feet away than he is from across an
apartment courtyard.
I don’t think I’ve ever seen eyes
that can actually speak. I’m not even
sure what I mean by that. It just seems
like he could shoot me the tiniest glance with those dark eyes of his and I’d
know exactly what they need me to do. They’re piercing and intense and ohmygod, I’m staring.
The corner of his mouth tilts up in
a knowing smile as he passes me and heads straight for the couch.
Despite his appealing and slightly
innocent-looking face, I want to yell at him for being so deceitful. Like I mentioned before, my current
predicament isn’t his fault, but I feel like if he wouldn’t have waited over
two weeks to tell me, I would have had a chance to plan all this out
better. I don’t understand how we could
have two weeks worth of conversations and the fact that my boyfriend and best
friend were screwing wasn’t something he felt the need to tell me.
Ridge throws the blankets and pillow on
the couch and spreads one out across the cushions for me.
“I’m not staying here, Ridge,” I
say, attempting to stop him from wasting time with his hospitality. I know he feels bad for me, but I hardly know
him and I’d feel a lot more comfortable in a hotel room than sleeping on a
strange couch.
But hotel rooms require money.
Something I don’t have on me at the
moment.
Something that’s inside my purse,
across the courtyard, and in an apartment with the only two people in the world
I don’t want to see right now.
Maybe a couch isn’t such a bad idea
after all.
He gets the couch made up and turns
around, dropping his eyes to my clothes that are soaking wet. I look down, noticing the puddle of water I’m
creating in the middle of his floor.
“Oh, sorry,” I mutter. My hair is matted to my face; my shirt is now a
see-through, pathetic excuse for a barrier between the outside world and my
very pink, very noticeable bra. “Where’s your bathroom?”
He nudges his head toward the
bathroom door.
I turn around and unzip the suitcase
that contains my clothes and begin to rummage through it while Ridge walks back
into his bedroom. I’m glad he doesn’t
ask me questions regarding what happened after our conversation earlier. I’m not in the mood to talk about it.
I select a pair of yoga pants and a
tank top, then grab my bag of toiletries and head to the bathroom. It disturbs me that everything about this
apartment reminds me of my own, with just a few subtle differences. This is the same bathroom with the Jack and
Jill doors on the left and right, leading to the two bedrooms that adjoin
it. One is Ridge’s, obviously. I’m curious who the other bedroom belongs to,
but not curious enough to open it. The
one rule Hooter’s girl had was to stay the hell out of her room and she doesn’t
seem like the type to kid around.
I shut the door that leads to the
living room and lock it, then check the locks on both doors to the bedrooms
just to make sure no one can walk in. I
have no idea if anyone lives in this apartment other than Ridge and Hooter’s
girl, but I don’t want to chance it.
I pull off my sopping wet clothes
and throw them in the sink to avoid soaking the floor. I turn the shower on and wait until the water
gets warm, then step in. I stand under
the stream of water and close my eyes, thankful I’m not still sitting outside
in the rain. At the same time, I’m not
really happy to be where I am, either.
I just know I never expected my
twenty-second birthday to end with me showering in a strange apartment and
sleeping on a couch that belongs to a guy I’ve barely known two weeks…all at
the hands of the two people I cared about and trusted the most.
(Colleen Hoover and Dawn= (fan-girling) at SF Indie Author signing 6/13.. )
Bio: Colleen Hoover is the author of five New York Times bestselling novels. Her first series was published in 2012 and includes SLAMMED, POINT OF RETREAT and the companion novel THIS GIRL. Her second series, published in 2013, includes the #1 NYT's bestseller HOPELESS and the companion novel, LOSING HOPE. She has released a free novella, FINDING CINDERELLA, as a thank you to her readers for their continued support. The novella is a companion to her Hopeless series, but can be read as a standalone.
You
can follow Colleen on Instagram @colleenhoover if you want to watch her
pointless, random videos. You can also follow her on TWITTER, but she
rarely tweets anything worth following. You can also find her on her
blog at www.colleenhoover.com or on her very active Facebook page at www.facebook.com/authorcolleenhoover where she loves to give away free stuff when her husband isn't looking.
No comments:
Post a Comment