Total pages in book: 164
Estimated words: 152853 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 764(@200wpm)___ 611(@250wpm)___ 510(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 152853 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 764(@200wpm)___ 611(@250wpm)___ 510(@300wpm)
“Oh, there were troubles. But then there are troubles in a lot of families. It's not for me to judge.” Though the very firm set of her mouth tells me she's got plenty of opinions, just the same. I wonder what it would take to get her to spill some of those opinions. Why is he the way he is? What makes him tick? And why the hell did he come to live with us in the first place?
“Tatum? Is that you out there?”
I look up at the second floor of the house to find Romero looking down at me. Big surprise, he's not happy. “I was just helping Mrs. Cooper. Some kids made a mess back here.”
“She's very helpful and sweet,” Mrs. Cooper tells him, waving. “I made a couple of loaves of banana bread. Would you like one?”
Even at a distance, his tight-jawed discomfort is obvious to me. “That would be nice,” he decides, lifting a hand before backing away from the window. At least he tried to act like a regular human being.
“He's busy working on something,” I whisper, rolling my eyes, because I still feel the need to make excuses for him. “He might as well be in another world.”
“I’ll go in and get the bread for you.” When I try to protest, she waves me off. “Nonsense. When you were so helpful? It's the least I can do. And like I said, I have extra.” I pull off the gloves and brush dirt off my knees, and by the time I finish, she emerges from her kitchen with an aluminum pan covered in foil. I peek underneath the foil, and my mouth waters at the aroma of bananas and cinnamon that wafts from the warm loaf.
“Thank you so much. I can't wait to try it. And I meant it when I told you I'd be happy to pick up some new mums for you if we go to the store. I'll let you know.” By now, Romero is at the back door, peering through the glass cut-outs toward the top. I take my time entering the gate and wandering down the concrete path that splits the yard in two. Some garden beds would be nice back here, come to think of it, though it's probably the wrong time of year to start something like that. And we won't be here by spring. I can't handle the thought.
“What did I tell you about her?” he mutters as soon as I'm in the house.
“Could you please shut the kitchen window before you act like an asshole?” I whisper back, closing the window before turning and glaring at him. “She is a nice lady, and I felt sorry for her. She was crying and everything.”
“That's her problem.”
“How can you be such a dick? She's an old lady, and I wanted to help her. God, I need to do something around here! I can only wash the kitchen floor so many times in a week.”
“I told you, she's a busybody.”
“Afraid I might find out you're human?” I ask, smirking. “Because I can't imagine another reason why you would be so against me talking to her.”
Seeing him baring his teeth in a snarl makes me shrink back—no matter how strong I want to be, I can't control my reaction. “Just leave her alone,” he growls before going downstairs. He's not even in his workout clothes, but it's only another moment or two before I hear him punching the heavy bag. He's doing that so he won't punch me, I realize, and the thought makes the banana bread look a little bit less appetizing. Maybe I'll try it later, when I'm not imagining him losing his shit on me.
One thing is for sure: I need to get out of here. I'm going to go out of my skull if there isn't something fun to do. People to talk to, some laughs, maybe a drink or two. Life, in other words. There must be something around here I can do, some way to get out without him knowing. Because if I'm not even allowed to talk to the next-door neighbor, I might as well shrivel up and die.
He can't tell me what to do. He doesn't own me.
It's been an hour since Romero closed his bedroom door, which means it's been two hours since I came upstairs pretending I was getting ready for bed. I even brushed my teeth and washed my face to keep up the act.
Then, I retreated to the bedroom, locked the door, and got myself ready to go out.
It’s a risk, and I know it, but I can get an Uber and he never needs to know I was gone. He always leaves his house key in the dish by the front door. It’ll be back in the dish long before he gets out of bed.