Free Rewired (The Progress Series) by Amy Queau Page B

piece would end up in tones of scarlet, rose, peach, and gold. It somehow represented all the things about her: her naivety, her patience, her selflessness, her timidity, her strength, her goddess, her mind, and her soul. Her posture was slightly slouched, the way she always sat on their bed on lazy Sunday afternoons—trying to act as though it didn’t bother her that parts of her body were exposed, fighting with the thought of grabbing the sheet to cover herself. Her arms were strategically placed to cover one of her breasts, with her fingers wrapped around her ankle. Legs in front of her and knees bent, she tried disguising her torso. And with her head down, a shy smile covered her blushing face.
    It was perfect.
    And it was everything Sam missed about her.
    Nine hours after he began, he stripped off the masking tape and set the canvas flat to dry. Leaning over the bed, Sam stared at his painting from above, able to watch her again when she was unaware. Allowing himself to stare through her—at all the precious things about her—without caring who would judge him for admitting he was still wildly in love with this woman.
    He dropped to his knees and buried his head in his hands, trying to keep his desperate sobs silent so Gabe wouldn’t hear.
    *
    Sitting propped against his headboard the next morning with his energy depleted, Sam’s fear and anger festered.
    Fuck this. She might think I’m an asshole; she might think he’s better for her; she might think our story is over, but it’s not. I’m not going down without a fight. Or at least, not going down without an explanation.
    Sam reached for the box filled with Charlie’s old journals and random memorabilia. He chose a red notebook and flipped it open.
     
    Dear Journal,
    I don’t know whether to laugh or cry or both.
    It’s my thirteenth birthday today, and you know what I got? Mom and I got into a fight this morning. I failed my English test. Aaron Paulson pushed me down the last two steps in the stairwell, and to top it all off, I got my period and forgot to bring my fucking Tampax. Which wouldn’t have been that bad if I knew I was going to get it, I could’ve just used toilet paper until school ended. But no! That of course would be too much to ask for! Instead, after sixth period ended, I was walking to my locker with a stain the size of China on my butt and Debbie Johansen, yep, Aaron’s girlfriend, decides to yell across the locker bay…
     
    He pulled his eyes from the page. “Aaron Paulson. Paulson? How do I know that name?” Sam said aloud to himself. Making a note of the name, he turned to a few pages later.
     
    Dear Journal,
    My therapist is the one that suggested these journals. I don’t know what good they’re going to do, it’s not like they’ll stop a suicide attempt. But, I’m doing as I’m told because it’s important to Mom and Dad.
    Uncle Ron said he’d pay me a dollar for every pound I lose. So I’ve been counting calories. Today I’ve only consumed 13,245. Isn’t that great? Don’t answer that, I know it’s horrible. I don’t really want to think about it, so I’ll probably stop dieting. Because really, there’s nothing about me that wants to be attractive. I will never be pretty, and that’s just reality…
     
    Sam closed the notebook and grabbed a green one from the box. He took a deep breath before opening it. Jesus. I didn’t realize things were so bad for her then.
     
    Dear Journal,
    I’m in the hospital today. When I couldn’t press the razor blade down, I got into the medicine cabinet instead.
    My therapist has been here twice already and she suggested I make a list. She wants me to write twenty things I like about myself.
    And I hate this assignment.
     
    1.              My hair
    2.              My handwriting
    3.              I’m good at softball
    4.              I’m good at art
    5.              I’m a good listener
    6.