Chapter 24, Not just average

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A/N: Goldiessssss, I'm so tired

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A/N: Goldiessssss, I'm so tired. I just couldn't edit this, so please let me know of the mistakes you find so that I can correct them tomorrow morning! Thanksssss.... *makes dinosaur sounds before trudging back to bed*

I walk out of the room and light a cigarette immediately

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I walk out of the room and light a cigarette immediately.

This is not part of faking it. Amber's not suppose to know me this well. She only knows me for what? Five days and already she can tell that I hate being the one that lives. Not even the inner-gang knows how much my father and brother's death has darkened me. How much I hate myself. 

What am I getting myself into?

I get back to the kitchen and grab a wet cloth to smear whatever Amber painted off of my face. It's red and I distinctly remember her saying that she doesn't paint in red... 

Did she get touched as well? And if so, I have to use that to my advantage.

"Did Amber fall for the loving mother act?" my mother asks.

"Your apron still has a tag on," I say and take an already made pasta out of the microwave. I put it into the stove and throw my mother's actual attempt at pasta away. Eliza Bowmen has never cooked a proper meal in her entire life. 

I don't want Amber poisoned before I at least win the bet.

"Did she fall for it?" Mother asks again. I slump down onto one of the bar stool at the massive island counter and take a drag out of the cigarette.

"She's not stupid," I tell Mother.

"Blake, you better win that bet. Did you tell her about Kyle? She'll soften to you of you use your brother's death-"

"Just stay out of it," I growl back before Amber walks in. 

I can't place the look on her face but she says: "Something smells great." 

I've killed and tortured and cheated. And yet, never have I felt like I'll go to hell as much as I do right now. Even the pasta is a sham. My mother can't cook to save her life. 

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