Free Beautifully Ruined by Nessa Morgan Page B

the alley.
    The nights of leaving my window open are done and gone.
    But I need to check.
    I won’t know until I check.
    Sometimes, I rub salt in my own wounds.
    I fling back the covers from my legs and walk to the window, yanking on the cord to wrench the venetian blinds up. The screeching sound floats through the early morning air. It’s somewhat similar to the sound of nails dragging down a chalkboard. At least, that is what I think at two in the morning.
    As expected, the window is closed tight and locked.
    I brace against it with my hands, feeling the bite of chill against my skin. It comforts me. Fully waking me.
    I’m alert, pressing my forehead against the glass. Being near the window helps me breathe.
    I take a breath. The deeper the better.
    The light across the alley catches my attention and I find myself staring through his window, watching his movement—a movement that’s become so familiar to me through the years, I could map it in my sleep. His hand glides through the air as his bitten lip pops away from his teeth. His dark hair tied back, away from his eyes so he can focus all of his attention on the world he’s creating.
    There’s nothing on this planet more beautiful than Zephyr painting. There’s nothing more important than him in his element. He’s so at home, so peaceful, I want to paint him, I want to capture the moment forever. A simple picture on my phone wouldn’t do him justice, wouldn’t capture this moment as I see it. It’d need something more.
    I bet he wouldn’t even notice me in the window—like a lovely creeper. What the hell am I saying? I know he doesn’t. Zephyr’s right in the zone; he’s in his own world where there’s nothing but paint, him, and his idea.
    What is he painting? The words drift through my mind without my permission. A present thought whenever I see him like this. If only I could see it, just take a quick peek…
    But I no longer have the privilege or luxury. It isn’t my right.
    I lower the blinds before lowering my head and sulking back to my bed, crawling beneath the still-warm sheets and hoping sleep claims me quick, but I’m still wide awake by the time my alarm goes off.
    Awake and alert. I’m even aware that the boy next door is still awake.

six
    I didn’t realize until this morning I never told Milo what time to arrive to take me to school. Not my brightest moment . I did remember to text Kennie to tell her I had a ride today but completely spaced on telling the new ride—my new chauffeur —when I was ready.
    But he was already in my driveway, rocking along to an Otep song I haven’t heard in a while. It was a great welcome, a great way to start my morning—with some Confrontation .
    Let’s see how long this good mood lasts.
    I climb into his car, tucking my backpack between my legs and pulling the seatbelt across my torso, yawning wide as he pulls from my driveway, passing Jamie and Zephyr as they pile into her little car. Their eyes on us as we pass.
    “Your neighbors look familiar,” Milo comments when he stops at the sign at the end of the street, a red car passes in front of us before Milo turns onto the road.
    “They go to our school,” I explain vaguely, focusing my eyes out the passenger window.
    Milo looks to me, blonde hair blowing from the open driver’s side window, flailing around his head.
    “Why don’t you ride to school with them?” he asks. It’s a typical question, a logical question. A question I don’t want to answer at six o’clock in the morning. There’s an explanation I don’t want to delve into.
    What can I say? I used to . How does that explain anything easily?
    “We don’t get along.” Not entirely untrue—it’s more like I have no idea where I stand with them. Zephyr: I am pretty sure it’ll take us a while before we’re even classified as friends . Jamie: Not a clue how she feels about me since I broke her brother’s heart, which essentially broke her brother. She can’t exactly be my