Breathe

| chapter six

LOGAN BRADFORD | CHAPTER SIX

The therapist himself wasn't so bad, but the thought of therapy caused an unsettling feeling of nausea in my stomach. I don't like the idea of being fixed or forced into talking to a complete stranger about my situation. My best friend is dead, how else do you go about a circumstance like this?

The feeling of dread for therapy on Thursday consumed me so much that I had skipped it altogether. I skipped my second therapy session. It wasn't like my parents would have found out because a) they were never home and b) what were they going to do about it?

It is currently Friday, a day I've also been dreading. I can't help but feel the confliction of my emotions that have been back and forth from worry to excitement. Of course I am excited for Jace's brother's homecoming; it's been quite a while since I've seen him and the rest of his family. But it has also been awhile since I've socialized and surrounded myself with people.

Earlier in the day Jace sent me a text saying that I needed to be casual fancy, whatever that's supposed to mean. But I've endured his mother's parties before, so I got the hint. His mom threw the biggest parties ever. Not like frat parties, her parties actually had class. She always invited her friends, family friends, colleagues, and anyone who would liven up the party.

I had to admit, her parties were amazing.

But it wasn't like it used to be. It wasn't the three musketeers anymore. It was just the slightly dynamic duo; Jace and I.

+

The party started at six o'clock in the evening, and Joshua was said to arrive at seven. I managed to find a dress that would make me look a little less dead for this party. The dress was casual yet fancy enough to wear at this homecoming party. I selected a long sleeved, dark blue lacey dress that halted just above my knee.

I didn't bother to straighten my hair. I simply brushed it out and braided it to the side. It felt a little good to finally do something different with my hair, leaving it in a bun all this time was probably bad.

Not surprisingly, I decided against heels. I put on a pair of comfortable black, faintly worn out tennis shoes considering it matched the black of the belt.

"I can do this," I whispered to myself. The thought of all the people I was going to see completely overwhelmed me.

From the outside of my house, an exasperating horn, followed by the clanking of a rusty truck tugged my attention. Sighing, I pushed all my worries away and left the house, locking the doors after. Jace was sat in his rusting, metal deathtrap.

"I cannot believe you still drive this thing," entering his vehicle, those were the first things I said to him. This car was older than the both of us combined, yet he still held onto it. The shiny red exterior was rusted into an ugly maroon. The car had more breakdowns that me, and that was saying something.

The inside always smelt as if someone had died in it, but that wasn't because of the car, that was Jace being a pig.

"Don't hate on my baby," his faint Spanish accent scolded me. I rolled my eyes and glanced his way. Jace always looked good, no matter what.

He had a permanent sun kissed skin glow that most people yearned for. His dark brown, mistaken for black, hair was gelled down. He wore a blue plaid button down flannel and denim jeans, but managed to present himself like he was straight from a magazine.

"You look great," I praised, sending him a small smile. It was then I realized that even though he looked great, I could still see the bloodshot look in his eyes. He must of thought of Haven just as much as I did. I decided not to bring it up.