Finding Delaware (State of Us #1)

by Bree Wiley

I don’t even remember the drive, don’t even remember unlocking the front door or going to my room—all I know is I’m standing in the bathroom gazing at myself in the mirror. A bottle of pills in my hand. I’ve been through so fucking many over the last six months that I couldn’t even tell you which medication it is, but I’m holding it in a death grip. And I don’t recognize the person in the mirror, the stranger gazing back at me with haunted eyes, tears staining his stricken face. Short, shallow gasps leave his throat, chest heaving as he grips his hair and just fucking screams. This isn’t the Huckslee who stands up and sings every Sunday in church or the football player with a scholarship. Not even Huckslee the swimmer, or Huckslee the artist, or anything other than the real me underneath the mask that’s finally splintered into tiny pieces. This is the Huckslee whose mother left him, whose father will disown him, whose best friend will turn his back on him. Whose stepbrother just broke his fucking heart. And I hate this Huckslee. Hate the sight of this broken mess sobbing so hard that vessels in his eyes are blowing out. Hate the man cursing a God he no longer believes in for making him this way. I can’t change me. I can’t fucking change me. And I’m tired of trying. My fist connects with my reflection, shattering the image staring back at me to match my soul, glass, and crimson raining down over the sink. The distorted, authentic version of Huckslee gazes down at the bottle...