CHAPTER 6
BRETT
Sneaking out of my own party is a lot harder than I thought it'd be.
I had plan on staying the rest of the night, but that itch inside me was stronger tonight than usual.
Times like this, I know my fingers need a tattoo needle in them as much as my body needs air.
I want to release the tension.
I want to feel the pain, as much as I hate to admit it.
Making every minute, every hour, and every day count–that's been my strategy for the last year.
It's the only thing that actually keeps me sane.
Because when you live a life that's not yours, staying sane is the best you can hope for.
I've got two weeks. Two weeks until I walk away from this affluent Kansas City hellhole. Two weeks until I'd be in a position to have customers paying for my sketches–lining up for my pie
