Excerpt

This is later in the book...but I love this part (the tension with Holden, I mean) so comments would be greatly appreciated.

‘How do I look’, he asks, and there he is, and he’s lying in the white bed and his hair is all ruffled and matted and sweaty, and he’s covered in gauze and casts and his lip is all messed up. I rub my left arm with my right arm and take a step closer to his bed.

Holden Alston is hurt, and he’s all broken up. And his lips, bloody and split-up, are forming some sort of warbled smile.

I tell him that he looks fine, and he just snickers. Then he drags open the curtain next to his bed, and I see Elijah, and he’s worse, and he’s a little red doll with a mangle face. My hands drop to my side. I can feel the shakiness and cold rising through my chest as I stutter closer to his body. Holden is silent, watching me watch Elijah Goldstone. My entire body is shaking now, and my throat is battling the upcoming tears or vomit or whatever comes first. I set one pale hand upon the blankets, on Elijah’s thin foot. Wait. No.

“His foot is gone.” I whisper quietly. Holden looks down and picks at his IV.

I raise my voice. “Holden. His foot is gone.” I utter. Holden looks up, cold.

“Collateral damage.” Holden says, his voice as low and quiet has I have ever heard it.

“You drove. You couldn’t drive because you’re fifteen and you don’t have a license and you hurt him! A fourteen year old boy! Ruthie’s sister! You hurt him!” My voice is strained as I speak the words. Holden ducks his head.

“Why?” I scream at him. He doesn’t answer.

“I effing didn’t see those people, okay? And you know what, I couldn’t control the car its not my effing fault that we crashed! Its not my effing fault that he got hurt, okay? Would you just leave me alone, okay?” He demands. He turns to face the wall, his scarred fingers laced into fists against the downy sheets.

The tears are about to spew from my eyes. I ignore the welling blurriness and leave for the door. Quinton is waiting outside.

“How is---Oh my, Bethany are you okay?” Quinton is hugging me and wrapping his big arms around my bony shoulder blades. I realize that I’m practically wiping my nose on his shirt, so I press away and scrape my sleeve across my face.

“Can we just go home now, okay? Shelly is waiting for me.” I say huskily.

“Bethany, are you sure?” Quinton grabs my neck.

“Yeah, please?” I sniffle, and Quinton abides to my whininess.

“But can we not stop at the crazy woman’s house?” He says lightly.

“Sure.” I grab my bag, and slip into the elevator. “But you know you wanna.”

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