The Way I Used to Be (The Way I Used to Be, #1)

by Amber Smith

I’m nice and safe in this little corner of the world. It’s like a break from life. I realize quickly I actually love shelving the books, putting things back in the proper order. Everything has a place—a right way to be. Here, I don’t have to worry about who I am or if I’m being it right. No one bothers me, not even myself.

I’m not playing right. I’m supposed to make up some cute thing I want more than anything in the world. And then he’s supposed to spin me a web of bullshit about all the ways he could make that thing happen. Of course, he couldn’t. And I wouldn’t. So, we’re left to our own devices.

It’s over before I even fully believe it’s happening. Before I’ve even fully decided I’m going to do it.

As the girl closed her eyes, she was thinking of him. Thinking that maybe he was thinking of her, too. But he wasn’t thinking of her in that way. He was holding her in the palm of his hand, wrapping her around his fingers, one at a time, twisting and molding and bending her brain.

She’s probably smart and funny and pretty in this wholesome, natural way. And he probably loves her and gives her thoughtful gifts on her birthdays, and he’s probably met her parents and they probably love him because, well, how could they not, and they’ll probably get married when they graduate and I’m sure they don’t play games or lie to each other. She’s probably the complete antithesis of me.

His hands, his arms, can hold the pieces in place temporarily, maybe even for a long time, but he can never truly put them back together. That’s not his job. He’s not the hero and he’s not the enemy and he’s not a god. He’s just a boy. And I’m just a girl, a girl who needs to pick up her own pieces and put them back together herself.