Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 76821 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 384(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76821 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 384(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
We got up in the late morning, stumbling around, making coffee, and trying to get a few hours worth of work accomplished.
As always, Triss was finished before I was, evidenced by the music thumping from her bedroom where, I imagined, she was getting herself ready to go out somewhere.
The idea of being alone in the house had anxiety twining around my throat.
It was motivating enough to have me tapping away hard and fast, accomplishing my two last jobs for the day, so I could get up, get showered and changed, and head out as well.
I could bring my laptop.
Get some more jobs done at a coffee shop or at the library. Then I could switch gears and start working on my book.
As I went through the motions of getting myself done, though, I had the sudden urge to scrap every hard-earned page I had been working on for so long.
And start a completely new story.
About a woman who came across a biker who had just had an accident, then helped nurse him back to life. Then, I don’t know, something was going to happen to bring them together again.
I was so motivated that I had a page written in my head before I even got out of the shower, rushing to grab a notebook to jot down the general ideas and quotes, before finishing getting myself dressed for the day.
I wasn’t like my sister.
I didn’t put a lot of care or thought into my appearance. Mostly because I wasn’t looking to stand out. I rather liked blending in, being left alone.
So I didn’t do any makeup. I pulled my hair into its usual loose braid. I slipped on jean shorts and a tee. Then I grabbed my notebook and shoved it into my laptop bag along with my wallet, chargers, and my cell phone.
“Oh, you’re heading out too?” Triss asked, walking out of her bedroom with a gust of scented air.
I loved her perfume.
It smelled like spices mixed with smoke and wood and a hint of musk. It was what I imagined the seventies smelled like.
She special-ordered one of the ludicrously expensive bottles each year on her birthday to treat herself.
I smelled like my creamsicle body lotion that I’d bought at one of those body care places at the mall. Because I had a coupon that let me buy two, and get one free.
“Yeah. I think I can focus better outside of the house.”
“I get that,” she agreed. “Sometimes you need a change of scenery for some inspiration.”
“Where are you headed?” I asked.
“I have a brunch with some friends, then a coffee date this afternoon. I figure I might do a little shopping after that. Want to meet up for dinner somewhere? We haven’t gone out to eat in ages.”
She didn’t bother asking where I would be going. The answer was the same old five places. Coffee shop, library, book store, the smoothie bowl place, and the local plant shop/outdoor nursery.
I was a creature of habit.
“That sounds fun,” I agreed, but I wasn’t going to tell her that I was agreeing mostly because I was looking for any excuse to avoid being home right then.
“Okay. I will text you when I untangle myself. Then we can meet up and find a good spot.”
With that, she was grabbing her bag, her keys, and heading out.
I literally waited until Triss was out of the driveway to rush outside, stopping to double-check the security system, then throwing myself into my car.
I panic locked my doors with my heartbeat drumming a frantic beat in my chest. Like someone was hiding in the hedges. Like they were going to gun me down in my own driveway.
It was over-the-top, I knew.
But I couldn’t seem to shake it, either.
So I was happy to drive into town, to find my favorite little indie coffee place, and hide in the back corner where no one ever wanted to sit, spreading out my notebook and my laptop on the table beside my iced caramel latte.
Then getting to work.
Not on jobs that would actually pay my bills.
Oh, no.
I had to get to work on my story.
—
The June Bug calls seemed to surround me completely as I walked down the street. If I was looking for sanity, their sounds threatened the exact opposite, seeming only to get louder with each passing footstep.
Perhaps I should have been thankful.
Their racket drowned out the swirling thoughts that had been dominating my mind for days.
Since I heard those fateful words.
I don’t think this is working out.
And when I had questions, he’d just shrugged, insisting that things just weren’t ‘working anymore.’ As if I didn’t deserve more of an explanation than that after four years together.
When I’d gotten home, I’d found that he must have had his buddies move him out while he was breaking up with me.