[COMPLETE]
When Hanna Haddad embarks on what's supposed to be another uneventful summer as a lifeguard on Cape Cod, a trip to the past comes as an unnerving surprise. The discovery of her estranged mother's journal opens up the world of tragedy and...
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I couldn't do it anymore.
I hid in my bathroom, hunched over the edge of the bathtub. I cried into my hands, over nothing and everything. Every few moments, I had to adjust my hold on my cheek from the stinging pain.
It made me cry even more.
My dad had driven off somewhere in a fit of rage, not telling me where to. I only prayed he was trying to cool down by the ocean or some other picturesque part of Falmouth and not plotting Benjamin's murder. When I finally willed myself off the bathtub edge, I gazed at the mirror and scrubbed my hands until they were raw.
I looked ugly, completely ugly. Stella had lied to me.
Sucking in the rest of my tears, I marched downstairs to eat my feelings in one of the many tubs of gelato I'd bought for a recovering Colin. I kept the vanilla bean flavor for myself, realizing he only liked chocolate or coffee-flavored desserts. On my fifth spoonful, my doorbell rang. I didn't budge from my spot on the countertop, mentally willing whoever it was to fuck off. I barely wanted to look at myself; now someone else?
The second ring of the doorbell blended in with a harsh knock on metal. One, then two, then three raps. I was close to calling the cops, until I realized exactly who I wished it wasn't was waiting for me to open up.
Keeping my tub of gelato in one hand, I yanked the door open with my other hand.
"Hey."
I slammed the door shut in his face. I leaned against it, heaving a few sighs and wiping at the last of the moisture in my eyes. Mustering up some maturity, I opened it again.
"Hanna," Jesse breathed, nervously shoving his hands into the pockets of his black slacks. "Can I come in?"
I twisted my lips, trailing my eyes up his body and to his face again. Without saying another word, I let him inside and slammed the door shut behind us. I walked back to the living room and dropped to my favorite sofa, leaving him standing bewildered in the doorway.
"Can we talk?"
"Why are you asking my permission?" I dropped my metal spoon into the plastic tub with a clang. "You'll talk anyway."
He rubbed the nape of his neck, looking off to the side. His eyes landed on the only family shrine my dad had kept, zeroing in on my mother. "I can't sleep from the guilt. Please let me apologize."
"I can't sleep either," I sneered, pushing my hair away from my face. "Kinda hard when I'm used to sleeping on my left side."
He bit the inside of his cheek, guilt washing over his perfect face—a face I now wanted to smash in. I didn't even know when I could leave the house without turning heads or suffering a pounding headache from the sunlight.
He slowly inched his way over to me, until he sat down on the edge of the coffee table, just like my dad would. "I'm sorry," he whispered, extending a hand to my face. I flinched, ducking away. He didn't protest. "I'm so genuinely sorry. I don't have an excuse." I raised an amused eyebrow. Not justifying ourselves now? "If I hadn't gone all apeshit on Alex, this wouldn't have even happened. Neither of you deserved my rage, and you never will."
