The Rush (The Siren Series) - By Rachel Higginson Page 0,20
allowed one tear to slip from my right eye. The lonely drop made a trail down my cheek, ending at my jawline and falling to my t-shirt where it left a small wet spot. A screech of frustration followed, echoing in the long tiled bathroom. I slammed my hands against the wet counter, splashing water on my jeans and bare arms.
One more tear was allowed freedom, landing on my shirt where it was lost in the other water spots left from the counter splash and then I decided to get ahold of myself. I slowed down my scrubbing and inhaled deeply. I counted to five and then I forced my eyes to the mirror.
It was easy to avoid mirrors usually. Most of the time I wished I never had to look at my face ever again. I didn’t care what I looked like. I didn’t want to care what I looked like. And I really didn’t want to see the accusing, hate-filled eyes that I knew would be staring back at me.
But I still made myself do it.
I had to get through this with my mind intact. My soul was shot to all hell, and my emotions were one tear-fest away from a doctor-recommended Xanax prescription. But I had my mind. My mind was my savior, my ticket out of here, my future. I had to stay sharp.
That meant facing my demons.
At least some of them.
I turned the water off and gripped the sides of the sink basin. I slid my eyes upwards and readied my nerves to face myself.
Rich auburn hair streaked with brighter reddish gold highlights pulled up high on my head. Deep, disturbingly green, emerald eyes. Plump, perfectly bowed red lips. Flawless skin. And that small smattering of freckles across the bridge of my nose.
Mine was the kind of face that guys didn’t forget and girls hated on principal. I was a genetic mistake. A freak of nature and fate and a curse.
My face was a curse.
I stared myself down and dared my heart to give up now.
Sam. Sam didn’t die. Sam is alive. I am alive. Sam will get better one day. Sam has to get better one day. And I will be better one day. One day, I will leave this all behind.
One day I will be free.
It was a practiced mantra, one that I said constantly to myself. And it worked. I molded my mouth into a smile, tightened my hair-knot and rubbed at my bottom lip since I hadn’t brought Chapstick with me.
I shook my hands of left over water and then reached for a paper towel. This was my night of absolute reprieve from my life. I could put up with Kenna and Ryder for a little while longer if it meant I didn’t have to be home alone, or worse with Nix and my mom.
I turned for the door and decided that I was done wallowing and needed to get over myself when it was suddenly thrust open and Ryder came strutting inside. My hand flew to my neck instinctively and I took a few beats to steady my breathing. My pulse thumped wildly against my fingers and I tightened my grip against my throat. Ryder and I assessed each other from a few feet apart, his eyes were cool and calculating, mine were wide and frightened.
“You scared the hell out of me!” I finally yelled at him.
A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips, and his eyes softened into careful amusement. “Sorry,” he finally relented. “Kenna was worried about you. She asked me to check on you.”
“And that meant storming the girls’ bathroom?” I snapped.
“I was waiting outside, but you were taking so long I started to wonder if Kenna had a right to be concerned,” he explained. His gray eyes were heated in the low lights of the bathroom but full of excited adrenaline from being on stage. The ends of his hair were damp from being under the hot lights and curled around his neck and over his ears, slick with sweat. His shirt clung to his body, sticking to him from the performance. He was full of feral energy; his presence was completely intrusive and demanding. His energy was infecting the room, reaching every molecule and atom around me, making the air bounce off the walls in excited frenzy.
He was overwhelming.
And for once in my life I was the one get pulled in.
“Kenna’s sweet, but as you can see, I’m fine,” I broke the silence