Chapter 88 Chapter 88

Chapter 88 Chapter 88
Kimberley 

Turning my back on him, I pick up my laundry basket and storm toward the door, my heart slamming against my ribs so hard I can feel it rattling my bones. When Darren makes a move to cut in front of me just like Caden did the other day, something inside me snaps. Maybe it’s panic that if he touches me, I’ll cave. That I won’t be able to leave.

But whatever the cause, pure fury floods out of me, and I scream at him. A torrent of angry words flies from my lips as he freezes, looking stunned. The venom pouring from me burns my throat like acid, and as I shove past him and push through the door, I hiss, “I wish you would fucking die.”

Then I’m outside and charging down the sidewalk, the laundry basket clutched in a death grip in my hands. The tears I’ve been holding in blur my vision, and a horrifying thought comes to mind that I can’t let go of; that was exactly how I lashed out to my mom before her car accident.

Those exact words.
I wish you would fucking die.
And she did. Less than an hour after I screamed those words at her, she got in a car accident that took her life. I’ve never been able to forgive myself for what I said to her that day, never been able to convince myself it wasn’t my fault Mom died.
That I didn’t cause it somehow.
That my cruelty didn’t kill her.

Pain shoots through me like I’ve been struck by a bolt of lightning, and my footsteps stutter. I drop to a crouch on the sidewalk, the laundry basket hitting the cement with a dull thud. Then I bury my face in my hands, my body shaking all over as a sob tears through me.

Darren

I remember the day Kimberley burst into our house and let loose on Caden. The whole thing was completely fucked up, but I couldn’t help watching her with just a little bit of awe. She was like a force of nature, a hurricane that tore through the landscape, leaving destruction in her wake.

As fucked up as it is, I was sort of turned on by it. And as equally strange as it is to say, I was almost proud of her for it. Ben and I were still catching up on everything that’d gone down, since Caden neglected to fill us in on his little battle plan that included tanking all of our grades in Anthropology. 

And as worried as I was that the whole thing would turn into a blowup we couldn’t come back from, I couldn’t help but be impressed by Kimberley.
Being on the receiving end of her rage though?
Holy fuck.

I don’t know what I expected to happen when I came in here tonight. I knew it was a bad idea, but I did it anyway. Maybe the booze still lingering in my system was what convinced me that maybe it would all work out, that maybe she’d listen and believe me when I said I wanted to make things right.

Well, whatever drunken buzz I had going when I walked in here, it’s gone now. As I watch Kimberley storm out the door, I feel stone cold sober.

“Fuck,” I mutter, mentally berating myself for being so stupid.

I’m not gonna give up. I’m not gonna just walk away from this. That moment of clarity as I stared through the window at Kim wasn’t brought on by booze, and it hasn’t faded—not even in the wake of her rage.

But I went about it all wrong. I should’ve had a real plan, an idea of how to show her I was serious, to make her believe this wasn’t yet another about-face meant to toy with her emotions.

All I came in here armed with were words, and by now, after everything that’s happened, words are fucking useless.

Well… not all of them.
Some of them can still cut to the bone. The last words she spoke to me echo in my ears, and I clench my jaw as my gaze tracks Kimberley. She’s hurrying down the sidewalk with a determined stride, and I think if she wasn’t carrying the laundry basket, she might be sprinting.

But then as I watch, her stride falters. Her shoulders slump, and her entire body seems to crumple. The laundry basket hits the ground, a few pieces of clothing tumbling out of it as Kimberley crouches over it, her body shaking, curling in on itself.

A jolt of fear lances me, and adrenaline floods my stomach.

Shit. What’s wrong? Is she hurt? Is she—
Then it hits me in a rush, and I let out a sharp breath.

Fuck. Her mom.

I may be the only other person in the world who knows what Kimberley said to her mom when they fought the day her mom was killed in a car accident. She shared that secret with me years ago, and I’ve never breathed it to another soul.

My hand is reaching for the door before I even realize I’m moving. I yank it open and stride toward Kimberley, who’s still collapsed over her laundry basket. The pain radiating from her is so palpable that it breaks my fucking heart, and I pick up my pace, reaching her in a few long steps and crouching down right beside her, trying to see her face.

“Kimberley?”

A harsh sob pours from her lips, and it rips through me like a jagged blade.

I don’t care. She can hate me for it later. She can add it to the list of reasons to despise me, but I’m not leaving her alone like this. I’m not letting her bear this grief on her own.

Wrapping my arms around her, I crush her to my chest, pulling her close to me as my ass hits the cool cement of the sidewalk. I haul her into my lap, cradling her with my body as she cries.

We probably make quite a fucking sight, sitting in the middle of the sidewalk with a basket of laundry next to us, clothes spilled across the cement. But I don’t give a fuck what any late night partiers walking by might think.

They can go fuck themselves for all I care. Kimberley is breaking apart in front of me, and I can’t let that happen.

She must be far gone, lost in her pain, because she didn’t answer me when I said her name and she hasn’t protested or put up a struggle since I pulled her into my arms. In fact, she’s clinging to me, her face buried in my chest as tears wet the front of my shirt.

Her hands grab onto the fabric, clutching it in a death grip as if she needs something—anything—to hold on to. Something to ground her.