Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 76425 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 382(@200wpm)___ 306(@250wpm)___ 255(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76425 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 382(@200wpm)___ 306(@250wpm)___ 255(@300wpm)
It was several long minutes later, long enough that I'd thought she'd fallen asleep again, when her voice cut through the silence of the room.
"You have a headboard."
"What?" I asked, sure I misheard her.
"You have a headboard," she repeated. "I've never been to a guy's room that actually has a headboard. They just butt the bed against the wall and let their pillows fall down. Like heathens," she added, getting a chuckle out of me, even if there was a churning inside at her words.
I didn't want to hear about the men whose rooms she'd visited.
I didn't want to see her as a woman.
Not because I wanted to picture her as young or virginal, but because if I let myself think of her as a woman, one with urges and desires, one that liked the company of men, I had a feeling I was going to start sexualizing her in a way we both didn't want.
"I also have curtains," I told her.
"And extra towels," she said, voice dramatic. "You're like a full-blown adult and shit," she added, teasing. "And, you have actual conditioner."
"What?"
"Men never have conditioner," she told me, turning over onto her back to look at me. "They use soap on everything. I think your conditioner is actually better than mine," she added, reaching up to stroke her fingers down her hair. "It makes me feel mildly better that your recliner is tragic," she finished, turning on the pillow to smile at me.
"Tragic how?"
"It's big and lumpy and hideous."
"You forget expensive and uncomfortable," I said, getting a big smile from her, one that managed to reach her eyes.
"Why do you keep it then?"
"Guess I wasn't raised to toss shit that wasn't broken beyond repair."
"Yeah," she agreed, letting out a deep breath. "I know all about that. My backpack was about seventy-percent duct tape by the time it got to me."
"Have you spoken to any of your siblings?" I asked.
Back when we'd first met, the older siblings had flown the coop, never to look back, seeming not to give a shit about the younger ones left behind.
I knew for a fact that Saskia used to take some of her racing money with her to Goodwill, the dollar store, and the grocery store, stocking up on things for her other siblings, wanting them to have it easier than she did, but also knowing she couldn't give her mom the money, and she couldn't buy them anything too nice, or their mom would just end up selling it.
"I don't even know if the older two are still alive," she admitted. "But my oldest younger brother is in med school. The sister after him is working on becoming a social worker. Then the next brother is working as a male exotic dancer. By choice, not necessity. And the other two are doing the young adult move to a big city and find themselves thing. One is in New York; the other headed out to LA."
"What about your mom?" I asked, knowing that she was a touchy subject even on a good day.
"Well, luckily, she didn't get knocked up a ninth time. She settled down with someone just about as toxic as she is. A guy with four kids from four different moms who doesn't bother to pay child support to any of them."
"Do you ever see her?"
"God, why would I want to?" she asked. "It would be different, maybe, if she somehow saw all the ways she'd screwed up, and wanted to make amends for them. But she doesn't. And I don't feel like I owe her anything, so why should I fight to be a part of her life, y'know?"
"I'm sorry, Sass," I told her.
I might have only had my mother after a certain part of my life, but I knew what family felt like. I knew the warmth of that kind of love. It bothered me that she'd never felt that, though she'd created it, in a way, by caring for her younger siblings.
"It's alright. We've all made something for ourselves."
"Why would Alaric choose to be a male stripper?" I asked.
"You remember his name?"
"I remember all their names. We talked about them a lot back then."
"Well, he's good-looking. And he knows it. And he figured out that he could make a shitton of money being good-looking and confident if he was willing to strip down to next to nothing. So... that's what he does. He knows there's a clock on it, but he's enjoying it while it lasts."
"Are you planning to see him now that you're back in the area?"
"If I don't end up dead, you mean. Yeah."
"You're not going to die, Sass."
"They tracked me to that pizza place today, Che," she reminded me. "It's not looking great for me."
"Sass, I've only been on the case a couple hours. Give me a chance," I said, tone teasing. "And everything always looks bad this side of morning," I added. "Get some sleep. See if you are more optimistic about the whole thing in the morning."