Christian Parkinson's playboy lifestyle has taken an interesting turn when he met the sharp and witty Kylie Preston. She has something in her that other women lack - the guts to call him on his bullshit.
She's not the type he dates but Christian fin...
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Kylie
I could've saved myself a great deal of embarrassment had I let Emma know about my lack of swimming skills. It was too late when she jumped off the dock and hauled me with her down the water below. I learned a lesson or two: firstly, flailing your arms rapidly doesn't keep you afloat. Secondly, survival mode has embarrassing consequences.
It took me a while to realize where my limbs had gone to survive. Said limbs were swathed around Christian. Sure, I should've opted for a decent hug.
But, no.
I chose to cling.
A koala clinging to a branch kind, I'm afraid.
I have multiple excuses. One: I could pretend my life was flashing before my eyes and I didn't like what I saw, so I decided to grip myself back into life. But my head was barely dunk on the water for a minute to allow me those visions. Two: I panicked. But then again, I could've stuck with a hug. Three: I did it on survival mode. But I enjoyed the survival a little.
Because, fine, Christian had the warm body that felt good.
I kept to myself the whole evening and chose a dark corner in the porch. They were kind enough not to mention more about the earlier mishap. Especially when their youngest sister came to spend the night. Chandra would freak and pry me for more details. And I can't really talk about the experience without my cheeks burning.
I shake my head, diverting my mind to other stuff. Like the upcoming death anniversary of my family. My face screwed up at the thought. I hadn't acknowledged it entirely, but subconsciously, I started wearing my mother's hair bow again. I never needed a call from Aunt Becca to remind me.
I reached behind my head, fidgeting the ivory hair bow I kept since I was ten. If I could bring my entire family's closet, I would. My aunt Becca thought I had adjusted quickly. I hadn't acted out like I was expected to. I was mellowed out. I hadn't cried on the day my family hadn't showed up to my ballet recital. I hadn't cried when my aunt Becca told me why they couldn't come. And that they would never come to any of my recitals.
Then on the night after the funeral, I wept. It came like a blow. A sense of ruination. A haunting thought that I'm all alone. Even when Maggie came to my room and hugged me, followed by Tricia and Olivia, it wasn't comfort enough.
Aunt Becca came to my aid. Uncle Sam too.
They told me they were always going to be there for me. It should've made me stop from crying. It should've stopped the sickening ache in my chest.
It wasn't enough.
I wanted my mom. I wanted my dad. I wanted Robbie and Gab.
I wanted my family back.
I was alone.
Completely, terribly alone.
A shard slit down my throat. I quickly sprang off the wicker chair, willing the discomfort in my chest away. I walked to the railing and gazed out into the dark.
