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)
“We better get going,” Romero announces behind me. Dad bought him a new car for the occasion, an SUV big enough to fit everything I'm bringing, plus the few bags he's packed for himself. I don't know why he has to live like a hermit, but I can’t complain—more space for me and my things.
I should feel something right now, shouldn't I? There should be more emotion as I walk away from the only home I've ever known. Even during college, I lived here. Bianca's the only person I would have wanted to be roommates with, and she was living with her useless boyfriend at the time.
Even the tears standing in Bianca's eyes as Dad puts an arm around her waist aren't enough to break through the numbness clouding my mind. I'm sorry she is sad, but I can't help thinking she'll be better off without me. They both will. I'm too messed up now, and the girl I used to be might as well have never existed. That's the person they love; that’s who they miss. Not me, not the person I am now. Old Tatum died back in France.
My mother's dark blue urn is waiting on the front passenger seat, and I pick it up, holding it carefully as I climb in and close the door. I notice how Romero eyes the urn through the window—and he’d better think twice about sharing his opinion, considering I genuinely don't give a shit. This is all I have left of her, and I’m not packing her up in a box. She might have spent the majority of my life ignoring me, but I can still care for what she left behind.
Good thing I didn't expect a speech from him once he joined me in the car, seeing as I didn’t get one. Settling into the driver's seat, he starts the engine and raises a hand to Dad before shifting the car into drive. I don't bother looking back. I can’t look back. It feels like nothing and everything at the same time.
The silence buzzes all around me, and I hate it. It makes the thoughts and memories inside my head louder. To elevate it, I do the only thing possible. I talk to my robot bodyguard.
“Is there a reason we had to leave at the ass crack of dawn?” I grumble, noticing the first rays of sunlight creeping over the horizon by the time we turn onto the road, running past the front gate.
“Yes. One, you should always experience a sunrise, and two, I want to beat the traffic.”
“Traffic? Where the hell are we going?”
That was the other stipulation. Romero got to choose the location. At this moment, I’m half tempted to jump out of the moving car door to avoid living with this man for God knows how long. If only the reminder of Jefferson and his threats didn’t pop up in my mind at that very instant.
“You'll find out when we get there.”
What a surprise, he doesn't want to tell me. “Don't you think I deserve to know? I know my father said you got to decide where we were going, but it’d be nice to know if I’ll be able to order anything from Amazon and have it delivered this year or if I’ll have to send messenger doves to contact Bianca.”
“Where do you think I’m taking you?” He pauses and shakes his head. “Better yet, don’t answer that. You'll know where we're going when we arrive. It doesn’t make a difference anyway.”
He wouldn’t understand. For ten years, he hasn't seen what difference it makes if I know things. If I'm treated like I matter. I remember over the first few weeks of his time in my house, he went from being moody and resentful to basically shutting down, and that's how he's been ever since. Except when he’s treating me like a worthless, spoiled brat. He seems to take pleasure in that.
“You know, you're the one who offered to do this with me. You don't have to act like somebody put a gun to your head and forced you to be here.”
“I didn’t say that. Just sit back and relax. Here I was, thinking you'd be too tired to talk after yesterday.”
I grit my teeth, my jaw aching from the pressure. “I know you don't think I'm capable of much, but I can attend a small wedding and still have the energy to speak the next day.”
“Stop putting words in my mouth. I was trying to give you credit, for what it's worth. You put the whole wedding together in no time, and it made them happy. I thought you'd be exhausted.”
The thing is, I am. I'm exhausted, drained, worn out. Now that it's over and I don't have adrenaline keeping me moving, I’m basically a husk—not that I’ve been that much better than a husk lately.