About This Book
Huffing, I slammed my hand down on the kitchen counter, wishing like hell I could throw my cell against the wall and never talk to anyone again. "On my way," I growled. Cliff sighed. "What's taking so long?" If he only knew. It was a bad day for me. Hell, every fucking day was worse than the last. It didn't help that my father liked to call and remind me of my failure every goddamn week. "I'll be there in a minute," I snapped. "Dude, hurry up. Emma's been asking about you. I think tonight's gonna be your night, if you get out of your shitty mood." I hung up the phone and took a deep breath, my fists clenched tight to keep my hands from shaking. Sometimes I wished my friends knew about my past, so I wouldn't have to come up with bullshit excuses every time I got pissed. Cliff was my friend and we started up a band a couple of years ago, but he didn't know about my real life; neither did Emma. When I picked up and moved from Charleston to attend college in the North Carolina Mountains, I'd left everything behind. None of the students recognized me, or put together the pieces of who I actually was. It was nice for a while, but I was living a lie. I fought the urges inside of me every single day. Hurrying out of my apartment, I took the stairs two at a time. The smell of weed wafted past my nose. I'd give anything to smoke a blunt and forget life for a while, but it wouldn't help.
