Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 69398 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 347(@200wpm)___ 278(@250wpm)___ 231(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69398 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 347(@200wpm)___ 278(@250wpm)___ 231(@300wpm)
This is just the icing on the fucking cake.
“Screamin’ ain’t going to fix it, Sherry. It’s not going to change it.”
“He doesn’t love me,” she wails. “He never loved me. He wants her because she’s so pretty and I’m just fat and ugly. I can’t give him kids. I can’t give him anything. I’m useless. He’ll leave me, and I won’t be able to support myself.”
Being an alcoholic who has relied on the system and your husband for years will do that to you.
“You’ll move on. You’ll clean yourself up, get a job, and forget about this.”
She makes a loud, screeching sound. “Forget about it? I love him.”
“You fuckin’ love that he gives you the life you don’t have to fuckin’ work for.”
“How dare you!” she wails. “No wonder she was sleeping with him. You’re a cold-hearted monster.”
I stare at her, expression blank.
I just found out my son, Sunny, isn’t mine. That my other son, Taj, is possibly not mine, and my wife is a cheating fucking liar. I’m not entirely sure what Sherry expects from me right now but, in this very moment, I can’t feel a fucking thing. Not a fucking thing.
“What exactly did you call me here for, other than to ruin my fuckin’ life?” I mutter, crossing my arms.
She stares at me, horrified. “Your life? Your life? What about mine?”
“Once again, you’re making it about you. What do you want me to do, Sherry?”
“I want to take them down. I want what I deserve. I want my house and my car and I want him gone. I want them both gone.”
“That’s not going to happen,” I say, my voice monotone.
“So you’re going to let her get away with it? What’s wrong with you?”
“Nothin’ is wrong with me, but you’re using my situation to get what you want out of Daniel. You’re as fuckin’ messed up as they are. I will sort my life out, I don’t need you to do it for me.”
“You’re horrible!” she screams. “I don’t know why I told you. I don’t even know why I’m here. I should just jump off this cliff right now and put you all out of your misery.”
God, she’s fucking dramatic.
She always has been, and she always will be.
I do feel sorry for her, in a sense. Not heavily, though. She is lazy, she doesn’t work, and she sits on her ass all day causing drama and drinking herself stupid. She wants me to fight her battle for her, but I have my own fucking battle to go home to.
“Why do you have to be so fuckin’ dramatic?” I shake my head, frustrated.
“I’m not!” she screams. “You think I won’t do it? Fuck you, Bohdi. I can’t live like this anymore.”
She charges toward the edge of the lookout and climbs under the rails. Fuck me. This bitch is crazy enough to do this for attention. With a frustrated growl, I follow her. She stands on the edge of the cliff, screaming and crying, tugging at her hair.
“Come back here,” I growl, stepping closer to her. “Stop playing games.”
“You all think I’m crazy, that I won’t do it? What do I have to live for?”
“You get your shit together, you get yourself a life, you got plenty to live for. Now step back here, or I’m going to pull you back.”
She glances at me, and the emptiness in her eyes has me suddenly realizing she might actually consider jumping. I’m sure deep down it isn’t what she wants but, right now, she’s so emotional, she is unlikely to be thinking correctly. I step forward and reach for her arm, curling my fingers around it. She tries to jerk it away, screaming and thrashing her head from side to side.
“Let me go, Bohdi. Let me go so I can die. None of you will care. Nobody cares.”
“We fuckin’ care,” I say, through gritted teeth, trying not to lose my footing as she tugs her arm, trying to free it from my grips. She’s standing right on the edge of a fucking deadly cliff, and there is no way in fuck I’m going down with her if she falls. I need to pull her back. “Now get back before you fall. You don’t want to die.”
“I do, I do want to die. He’s going to leave me.”
“You’ll move on.”
I tug her, trying to pull her back without getting too close to the edge. She screams and wails, tugging her arm so hard to try and free it that she loses her footing. She spins slowly as her foot slips and, in that second, in that split second, I know I have a choice. If I don’t let her go, I’m going down with her. My boots skid across the dirt as her weight begins to fall, pulling me. At this angle, there is simply no way I’ll be able to stop her falling and pull her back.