Free Life Unaware (Entangled Teen) by Cole Gibsen

having to look at me in the hallway. Her comment was liked by Amber and thirty other people. There were more, but tears blurred the words.
    I pressed a button and the page disappeared. I jammed the phone into my pocket and dried my eyes on my shirtsleeve. I thought I’d be safe at the barn—that my problems wouldn’t be able to find me here. Turned out I was wrong—I wasn’t safe anywhere.
    A wave of dizziness swept over me, but I shoved it back. I wouldn’t have an anxiety attack over this. I refused .
    The whole thing was so hypocritical. Like the people calling me names and throwing shit at me had never spoken an unkind word about someone else? They were just persecuting me because I got caught.
    It wasn’t fair.
    Rookie snorted at me from his stall. I leaned across the chain and reached for him, desperate for a little of that horse magic to rub off on me. He stared at my hand but didn’t bridge the gap between us. Great. My horse had turned against me, too? It was like he knew I wasn’t the same little girl who used to climb on his back and braid his mane while he munched on grass. I was broken, and I didn’t know how to fix me. And for the first time, I didn’t think Rookie could fix me, either.
    And so it happened. This was the day horse magic finally stopped working.
    “It’s okay,” I told him. I withdrew my hand and used it to wipe my tear-streaked cheeks. “I’ll go get your grain.”

    Later that night, after taking a shower so scalding it left my skin red and numb, I crawled into bed and pulled the covers to my chin. I wasn’t really sure why I bothered. Sleep was the last thing I wanted. Sleep would only bring morning, and morning was something I never wanted to come.
    Before crawling into bed, I’d made the mistake of checking Facebook one last time. I’d discovered a new comment on the Regan Flay Abuse Support Group page. That comment churned inside my chest like a ball of razor blades, ripping and shredding everything in its path.
    Regan Flay should just do the world a favor and kill herself.
    It wasn’t so much the comment that hurt as the fact that it had seventy-six likes. Seventy-six . More than two football teams’ worth of people agreed the world would be a better place if I didn’t exist.
    I glanced at the bottle of pills on my nightstand.
    They were right there. All I had to do was reach for them, and then everyone would be happy. If I were gone, I couldn’t possibly ruin any more lives. If I were gone, I wouldn’t have to endure their hatred.
    And it would be easy. So damn easy.
    Panic jolted down my spine like an electric current. I snatched the pill bottle and flung it across the room, where it bounced off the wall and landed on the floor. Sure, it would be easy, but it wasn’t what I wanted. The pills would only be a way out, and I wanted a way through. Out was final, but through at least held possibilities. These people couldn’t hate me forever—and even if they did, I’d be done with high school in another year. If I could just hang in there and try not to draw any more attention to myself, things had to get better, right?
    Not that they’d ever been great to begin with.
    I curled my knees up to my chest and wrapped my arms tightly around them. I honestly had no idea what would make me happy anymore. My mom certainly thought she knew. But what if she was wrong? What if all the things she said would make me happy—admittance to an Ivy League school, a suitable husband, a successful career—left me feeling as empty and hollow as I did right now?
    When I was younger, everything had been so much easier. Happiness was jump ropes and cotton candy. But now I couldn’t remember the last time I’d truly felt happy. When did I lose it? And why had it become so difficult to find again?
    Worse still, what if I never did?

Chapter Seven
    The next morning, I sat in my car and watched students weaving around vehicles through the parking lot on their way to class. I gripped the