Hate So Good: A High School Bully Romance (The Hate Series Book 2) by Nina Lincoln (best fiction books to read txt) 📕

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Ramie

Pulling my old clunker of a car up to the beach, I turn the engine off and stare at the rolling waves. The deep blue color crosses the horizon in an endless swath of color that dazzles the eye. It’s almost impossible to believe there’s life somewhere past where only those who are brave enough will ever see.

For all its beauty, though its deadly, with waves of curdled seafoam, never-ending, pushing against the shore and fading into the sea over and over. It’s a brutal reminder that life goes on whether we want it to or not.

It also brings to mind images best left alone. Even so, I can’t stop the picture from forming. Once upon a time, I stared at the same visage in a picture, although flat and lifeless, an insult to the obvious power before me, for no artist can ever bring to life the mighty sea, pretending my life as I knew it hadn’t been changed forever.

Just as I did then, I clench my teeth against the pain that even now left a bitter taste of grief on my tongue at the wicked memories and resolve never to be vulnerable again. Exposing yourself only leads to one thing - pain. I should know. I’ve experienced my fair share.

With a sigh, I push thoughts of Hayden fucking Franks away and pull the mirror down, gazing at my reflection. I’ve lost weight, pounds that have transformed me from a curvy girl into a skeletal waif. There are dark circles beneath my green eyes, now cold and jaded from the wounds no amount of time can mend.

Although the last few weeks of rest have healed the wounds turned scars on my body, they couldn’t erase the other effects clear to see for those looking. I’m empty, my soul shriveled and cold. I may have survived, but I left vital pieces of who I am, or who I was at least, behind in the forest, where my darkness fought for supremacy and lost.

Beyond that, even the superficial appearance I clung to has been altered, another insult to add to my injuries. My once lustrous hair hangs in choppy waves around my shoulders, and I mourn the loss of what I considered my prettiest asset before turning my thoughts away.

In the weeks of seclusion, the soul-deep rage has faded to an ember that can spark and flare if I’m not careful, and if I allow myself to dwell, my efforts will all have been for nothing.

Because I’m stupid and vain, I couldn’t resist the effort to spice up my dull looks. Just yesterday, I bought a bottle of bleach and watched grimly as I bleached the ends of my dark hair for the first time in my life. After, I dyed the tips in various colors creating a rainbow that slides around my face when I move my head.

It’s pretty, but just another reminder of what was brutally taken from me, and even if it grows back, the reminder will remain in the marks upon my body that can never be erased.

What I can’t change, not with pretty colored dyes nor time, is the deadness behind my eyes. Where once a lovely soul stared back at me, now a cold, lifeless version does, and I fear the former me is gone.

How could she not be? When everything else about me has changed? For the best, that girl walked into a shit storm and couldn’t find her way free. She is weak, where I am strong. I will be strong.

Sliding a pair of pretty pink aviators over my eyes, the lenses a barrier to the world that I’ll cling to, at least for today, I grab my bag, and pull my aching body from the vehicle, heading grimly down the sand dune toward my friends.

It’s painful to see them in the distance, laughing and horsing around. From here, I don’t know who, but someone lifts a girl into their arms and swings her around, and she screams her delight into the air, her bare legs flailing behind her.

Suppressing a grimace, I try to envision letting a guy do that to me, and I come up empty. Not only have I lost whatever playful persona I may have had, but I don’t trust anyone to get that close to me.

None of them understand the real evil in the world, and I can’t suppress the tide of resentment it brings. They’re lucky, and I’m a painful mass of writhing ugly jealousy.

Stretching my bones, I wince cautiously, taking stock of the aches and pains, I’m not fully recovered, and I’m told they may never go away, particularly during the colder months when my ruined bones will remind me of the past I cannot escape.

I haven’t seen my friends since…since, and it’s with both dread and eagerness that I march toward them with a grim smile. I refuse to curl up and die even if it’s those thoughts I go to sleep with every night and wake to when the inevitable nightmares featuring his angry face loom over mine.

“Ramie!” Finn calls with a soft smile.

Once upon a time, I treated Finn like shit, an accomplice in Colt’s efforts to bully her so severely she’d leave our school and never look back, rather unsuccessfully, I might add.

By the time she rolled through our doors, senior year, my soul was already lost to the darkness, and although I wasn’t proud of my actions, I also didn’t stand up for what I knew to be right, not that I wouldn’t have been punished for my efforts if I had.

Further, her arrival brought a feeling of dread so painful I would take to my bed for days at a time and writhe in the misery of knowing something’s coming.

I’m not immune to these portendings of doom. After all, I knew Ben would be my destiny and that only after a