Losing Hope

time, it’s not the voice of the little girl anymore. It’s not even Les’s voice.
    It’s Sky’s.

Chapter Eleven
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    I open my eyes and I’m no longer on the kitchen floor.
    I’m in my bed.
    I’m covered in sweat.
    I’m gasping for air.

Chapter Twelve
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    I couldn’t go back to sleep last night after the nightmare. I’ve been awake since two in the morning and it’s now after six.
    I drop down onto the sidewalk when I reach her house. I stretch my legs out in front of me and lean forward, grabbing my shoes while I stretch the muscles in my back. I’ve been tense for days and nothing I do seems to help.
    Before I went to sleep last night I had no intention of running with her again today. But I’ve been sitting alone for over four hours, wide awake, and the only thing that even remotely appealed to me was the thought of seeing Sky again.
    I also had no intention of going back to school today but it seems way more appealing than staying home all day. It’s like I’ve been living minute to minute since the moment I got back from Austin last week. I’m not sure from one moment to the next what I’m doing or where I’ll be or even what frame of mind I’ll be in.
    I don’t like this instability.
    I also don’t like that I’m at her house again today, waiting on her to come outside for her morning run. I don’t like that I still feel the need to be around her. I don’t like the fact that I don’t want her to believe the rumors about me. I don’t give a shit when anyone else believes them. Why do I give a shit if she believes them?
    I shouldn’t. I should just go back home and leave her to believe whatever she wants to believe.
    I stand up in an attempt to talk myself into leaving, but I just stand here, waiting on her. I know I need to leave and I know I don’t want to be involved with anyone even remotely interested in Grayson, but I can’t do it. I can’t leave because I want to see her again a whole lot more than I want to leave.
    A noise comes from the side of her house, so I take a few steps to get a look. She’s climbing headfirst out of her window.
    Just seeing her again, even from a distance, reminds me of why I crave to be around her so much. It’s only been a few days, but since the moment I met her, no matter where I am, I’m constantly wondering about her. My attention is constantly homed in on her like I’m a compass and she’s my North.
    Once she’s outside, she pauses and looks up toward the sky, inhaling a deep breath. I take a few hesitant steps toward her. “Do you always climb out your window or were you just hoping to avoid me?”
    She spins around, wide-eyed. I try not to let my eyes dip below her neck, but the things I’ve seen her run in are hard not to stare at.
    Keep looking at her face, Holder. You can do it.
    She glances at me, but doesn’t make eye contact. Her eyes lock on my stomach and I’m curious if it’s because she likes that I’m not wearing a shirt or if it’s because she can’t stand me to the point that it’s hard for her to look me in the eyes. “If I was trying to avoid you I would have just stayed in bed.” She walks past me and lowers herself onto the sidewalk.
    I hate that her voice does things to my body that no other voice could ever do. But I also love it and want her to keep talking, even if she is rude most of the time.
    I watch as she pushes her legs out in front of her and begins to stretch. She seems fairly calm today, despite the fact that I showed up. I sort of expected her to tell me to go the hell away after how we left things in the hallway yesterday.
    “I wasn’t sure if you’d show up,” I say, taking a seat on the sidewalk in front of her.
    She lifts her head and looks me in the eyes this time. “Why wouldn’t I? I’m not the one with the issues. Besides, neither of us owns the road.”
    Issues?
    She thinks I have issues ?
    I’m not the one feeding into the rumors like she is. I’m also not the one leaving notes on her locker, nor am I one of the many people at school who have treated her like shit. If anything, I’ve been one of the few people to be nice to her.
    But she thinks I’m the one with the issues?
    “Give me your hands,” I say, mirroring her position. “I need to stretch, too.”
    She shoots me a curious look, but takes my hands and leans back, pulling me forward.
    “For the record,” I say, “I wasn’t the one with the issue yesterday.”
    I can feel her lean back farther,