Praying for Rain (The Rain Trilogy, #1)

by B.B. Easton

I wake up at the tail end of a scream, just like I do every morning. Just like we all do, ever since the nightmares began.

Life sucks, and we’re all gonna die.

“Semi-Automatic” by Twenty One Pilots makes me think of “10 A.M. Automatic” by The Black Keys, which makes me think of “Black Wave” by K. Flay, which makes me think of “Blood in the Cut” by K. Flay, which makes me think of “Cut Yr Teeth” by Kississippi, which makes me think of “Cut My Lip” by Twenty One Pilots.

I don’t do us. All us does is get you hurt or killed, so I throw an E on the end of that bitch, and I use.

“Maybe, like, fifteen, twenty minutes? It’s on the other side of this hill, down past the skating rink.”

“You just sounded so country.” Rain scoffs. “If you think I sound country, then you haven’t heard—” “No, it’s not your accent,” I cut her off. “It’s just the way everybody down here tells you the distance in minutes instead of miles and uses landmarks instead of street names.”

This waiting around to die thing is killing me.

She’s a mess and a mindfuck, but when she smiles, it steals the air from my lungs.

I’ve finally found what I’ve been missing my whole life, and if I keep it, it will kill me. No wonder Rain was wearing a black hoodie when I met her. She’s the fifth fucking horseman of the apocalypse.

Without him, my hours are numbered. Without him, I don’t want the ones I have left.