Hopeless
Authors: Colleen Hoover
By
Colleen Hoover
* * * *
Copyright © 2012 by
Colleen Hoover
Cover design by Sarah Hansen of
Okaycreations.net
Interior book design by
JT Formatting
ISBN-13:
Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the above author of this book.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.
The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
Sunday, October 28th, 2012 7:29 p.m.
Saturday, August 25th, 2012 11:50 p.m.
Monday, August 27th, 2012 7:15 a.m.
Monday, August 27th, 2012 3:55 p.m.
Monday, August 27th, 2012 4:47 p.m.
Monday, August 27th, 2012 5:25 p.m.
Monday, August 27th, 2012 7:10 p.m.
Tuesday, August 28th, 2012 6:15 a.m.
Tuesday, August 28th, 2012 7:55 a.m.
Wednesday, August 29th, 2012 6:15 a.m.
Friday, August, 31st, 2012 11:20 a.m.
Friday, August 31st, 2012 4:50 p.m.
Saturday, September 1st, 2012 5:05 p.m.
Saturday, September 1st, 2012 7:15 p.m.
Wednesday, June 23rd, 1999 3:55 p.m.
Monday, September 3rd, 2012 7:20 a.m.
Friday, September 28th, 2012 12:05 p.m.
Friday, September 28th, 2012 11:50 p.m.
Saturday, September 29th, 2012 8:40 a.m.
Saturday, September 29th, 2012 9:20 a.m.
Saturday, September 29th, 2012 10:25 a.m.
Saturday, September 29th, 2012 10:15 p.m.
Monday, October 22nd, 2012 12:05 p.m.
Friday, October 26th, 2012 3:40 p.m.
Tuesday, February 2nd, 1999 9:30 p.m.
Saturday, October 27th, 2012 Sometime in the middle of the night.
Saturday, October 27th, 2012 8:20 p.m.
Saturday, April 17th, 1999 2:30 p.m.
Saturday, October 27th, 2012 11:20 p.m.
Saturday, October 27th, 2012 11:57 p.m.
Sunday, October 28th, 2012 12:37 a.m.
Wednesday, June 23rd, 1999 4:10 p.m.
Sunday, October 28th, 2012 2:45 a.m.
Sunday, October 28th, 2012 3:10 a.m.
Sunday, October 28th, 2012 7:50 a.m.
Sunday, October 28th, 2012 5:15 p.m.
Sunday, May 2nd, 1999 2:35 p.m.
Sunday, October 28th, 2012 7:10 p.m.
Thursday, May 18th, 1999 10:00 p.m.
Sunday, October 28th, 2012 7:29 p.m.
Monday, October 29th, 2012 9:50 a.m.
Monday, October 29th, 2012 4:15 p.m.
Monday, October 29th, 2012 4:35 p.m.
Tuesday, January 6th, 1998 6:20 a.m.
Monday, October 29th, 2012 4:57 p.m.
Monday, October 29th, 2012 5:29 p.m.
Monday, October 29th, 2012 11:35 p.m.
Monday, June 14th, 1999 7:00 p.m.
Tuesday, October 30th, 2012 12:10 a.m.
Tuesday, October 30th, 2012 9:05 a.m.
Tuesday, October 30th, 2012 7:20 p.m.
Tuesday, October 30th, 2012 8:45 p.m.
Tuesday, October 30th, 2012 10:15 p.m.
Saturday, May 8th, 1999 9:10 p.m.
For Vance.
Some fathers give you life. Some show you how to live it. Thank you for showing me how to live mine.
I stand up and look down at the bed, holding my breath in fear of the sounds that are escalating from deep within my throat.
I will not cry.
I will not cry.
Slowly sinking to my knees, I place my hands on the edge of the bed and run my fingers over the yellow stars poured across the deep blue background of the comforter. I stare at the stars until they begin to blur from the tears that are clouding my vision.
I squeeze my eyes shut and bury my head into the bed, grabbing fistfuls of the blanket. My shoulders begin to shake as the sobs I’ve been trying to contain violently break out of me. With one swift movement, I stand up, scream and rip the blanket off the bed, throwing it across the room.
I ball my fists and frantically look around for something else to throw. I grab the pillows off the bed and chuck them at the reflection in the mirror of the girl I no longer know. I watch as the girl in the mirror stares back at me, sobbing pathetically. The weakness in her tears infuriates me. We begin to run toward each other until our fists collide against the glass, smashing the mirror. I watch as she falls into a million shiny pieces onto the carpet.
I grip the edges of the dresser and push it sideways, letting out another scream that has been pent up for way too long. When the dresser comes to rest on its back, I rip open the drawers and throw the contents across the room, spinning and throwing and kicking at everything in my path. I grab at the sheer blue curtain panels and yank them until the rod snaps and the curtains fall around me. I reach over to the boxes piled high in the corner and, without even knowing what’s inside, I take the top one and throw it against the wall with as much force as my five foot, three-inch frame can muster.
“I hate you!” I cry. “I hate you, I hate you, I hate you!”
I’m throwing whatever I can find in front of me at whatever else I can find in front of me. Every time I open my mouth to scream, I taste the salt from the tears that are streaming down my cheeks.
Holder’s arms suddenly engulf me from behind and grip me so tightly I become immobile. I jerk and toss and scream some more until my actions are no longer thought out. They’re just reactions.
“Stop,” he says calmly against my ear, unwilling to release me. I hear him, but I pretend not to. Or I just don’t care. I continue to struggle against his grasp but he only tightens his grip.
“Don’t touch me!” I yell at the top of my lungs, clawing at his arms. Again, it doesn’t faze him.
Don’t touch me. Please, please, please.
The small voice echoes in my mind and I immediately become limp in his arms. I become weaker as my tears grow stronger, consuming me. I become nothing more than a vessel for the tears that won’t stop shedding.
I am weak, and I’m letting
him
win.
Holder loosens his grip around me and places his hands on my shoulders, then turns me around to face him. I can’t even look at him. I melt against his chest from exhaustion and defeat, taking in fistfuls of his shirt as I sob, my cheek pressed against his heart. He places his hand on the back of my head and lowers his mouth to my ear.
“Sky.” His voice is steady and unaffected. “You need to leave. Now.”
Two months earlier…
I’d like to think most of the decisions I’ve made throughout my seventeen years have been smart ones. Hopefully intelligence is measured by weight, and the few dumb decisions I’ve made will be outweighed by the intelligent ones. If that’s the case, I’ll need to make a shitload of smart decisions tomorrow because sneaking Grayson into my bedroom window for the third time this month weighs pretty heavily on the dumb side of the scale. However, the only accurate measurement of a decision’s level of stupidity is time…so I guess I’ll wait and see if I get caught before I break out the gavel.
Despite what this may look like, I am
not
a slut. Unless, of course, the definition of slut is based on the fact that I make out with lots of people, regardless of my lack of attraction for them. In that case, one might have grounds for debate.
“Hurry,” Grayson mouths behind the closed window, obviously irritated at my lack of urgency.