Subject Me To Life [Book One] ✔️ *EDITING*

Chapter Forty-Six

*Not edited* Not proofread*

Chapter 46– What's wrong with me:

I find it weird having to sneak in to my own house, but I do it anyway as to not wake Jace. The time is nearing five in the morning, so there are no cars on the roads. The streetlights have only just come on, the birds are starting to wake up.

I steadily climb up the long trellis panel on the side of the house and push myself onto the roof, in front of my bedroom windows. The one closest to me is open slightly and I pull it further so there's enough room for me to fit through. My feet softly hit the ground once I'm inside with no noise when I jump down, and I close the window behind me.

My shoes come off first, they roll along the floor. Then I take my jacket off as I walk towards my bed, throwing it into the dark abyss of my room, not knowing where it lands. One would think with the amount of tests and experiments they did on my eyes, I'd have X-Ray vision, or at least advanced. But instead I end up with fucking glasses.

Finding it difficult to undress and manoeuvre around my messy room in the dark, I ungraciously stumble over to the light switch and flick it on. The now bright room reveals a bunch of black items of clothing strewn across the floor and the contents that were once neatly placed on my desk are scattered here and there from where I had lost my temper earlier in frustration. It's a mess, but that's not my main focus.

The man that sits perched on my desk chair with his bare arms crossed over his shirtless chest and a disapproving, pissed off glare on his face is what catches my attention.

        "¿Quieres decirme a dónde estabas?" His tone isn't teasing or playful. His voice isn't soft or understanding. He's faking a calmness that I know is hiding a whirlpool of anger.

        "Not really," I stupidly but honestly reply. Jace's eyes have already scanned my body a hundred times over by now. I know he's seen the state my hands are in and I know he can see the blood stains on my white shirt. "Anyway, do you mind?" I ask as I pull my top over my head and throw it on the floor. There isn't any point washing it, I'd bin it tomorrow.

        I pick up an oversized top that's messily scrunched up on my bed and slip it on. Just as I've gotten my jeans off and kicked them to the side, a loud bang has me whipping around to find Jace now standing at his full height with my desk chair laying sideways on the floor. I frown at that.

        "Damn it, R.A. What the fuck is the matter with you?" Jace shouts loudly, furious. "Don't roll your fucking eyes at me, I'm being dead serious. What the fuck is wrong with you?" He's almost gone red in the face and his hands are shaking slightly as he waves them about. I can tell he's more than frustrated with me. Jace isn't a stranger to 'foul language' but he doesn't cuss more than once in a sentence. He uses swear words sparingly.

        I want to answer him but I don't, because honestly, I don't have an answer. Maybe if he'd phrased his sentence differently or asked another question, I would've been able to snap back a reply. But truth is, I don't know what's wrong with me.

        I mean, to some extent, I do, but there's no explaining it. And maybe it's because there's not enough words, or maybe it's because there's just too many. Perhaps it's because explaining it would be too complicated, it would take too much time. Or maybe there's nothing to explain— just a series of excuses to offer some form of comfort, some peace of mind.

Maybe he wants someone to blame, he wants me to give him the excuse that, what's wrong with me, is them, is what they did. Perhaps that's the answer he's waiting for me to give.