Total pages in book: 120
Estimated words: 113464 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 567(@200wpm)___ 454(@250wpm)___ 378(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 113464 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 567(@200wpm)___ 454(@250wpm)___ 378(@300wpm)
Just a little longer. I only need to put up with this a little longer until I’m home. Then I can cry for days if I need to.
No. I go back to work tomorrow. Somehow, I have to pull myself together. Maybe that’s for the best. I need something to take my mind off of all of this.
There I was, imagining our future.
And he did this to me. I’ll never forgive him, just like I’ll never forgive myself.
Instead of trying to sneak out once everything’s packed up, and I’ve put on shorts and a tee that don’t even go together, I fling the door open and march down the hall. I still hear voices shouting somewhere else in the house, the sound bouncing off hardwoods and high ceilings.
He’s still fighting with her, distracted. That’s one good thing that’s come out of this.
Because I’m not sure I’d be strong enough to leave if he found me right now. I know he’d talk me out of it. I should thank her for setting this up. The thought makes me laugh—high-pitched, shrill—as I jog through the front door and out into the courtyard. Her car must be the bright red Bugatti. It’s completely vulgar, just like her.
I don’t care. Let them have each other. I only feel sorry for Tatum, with a pair of fucked up parents who only want to hurt each other. I wonder if I was just another way for him to hurt her. A chess piece in an endless game.
No, I’m not going to do that to myself. And even if it’s true, what’s the difference? It’s over now. It should never have started.
I climb into my car and toss all my stuff onto the passenger seat. My hands are shaking, and it takes me a second to get the keys in the ignition. The headlights from the car shine bright in the distance. My heart breaks a little more as I drive down the driveway.
I need to calm myself down before I get home because I know Dad’s going to ask a million questions if I stay this distressed. Maybe I’ll tell him I had a fight with the imaginary friend I was staying with, something simple. He’ll pat me on the head and tell me everything will be okay in the morning, and I’ll pretend I believe him. Whatever works.
Anything, so long as he never finds out the truth. I couldn’t bear his disappointment.
And as much as I loathe Callum now, the thought of my father doing anything to punish him for hurting me is one I can’t handle. I won’t be the vindictive, scorned woman. I won’t let Callum drag me that far down.
It’s around nine o’clock by the time I pull to a stop in front of the modest house I grew up in. It was the best we could afford. Mom would have liked something bigger, but when he was demoted from detective lieutenant to a regular detective, it meant taking a pay cut.
I can do this. That’s what I have to keep telling myself as I pull my things from the car and carry them up the front steps onto the creaking porch. I can do this. I’ve gotten better at lying to Dad, haven’t I? Not exactly something to be proud of, but it’s what I need to fall back on now.
The lights are on in the living room, and I can hear the TV blaring inside as I fish out my key. “It’s just me!” I call out in a fake, cheerful voice as I open the door. You don’t want to burst in on a detective who keeps a gun in the house. That’s a good way to get shot.
He’s not in the living room, where a ball game is down to the final inning. I grab for the remote to lower the volume. “Do you need a hearing aid?” I ask the empty room. There is a trio of empty beer bottles on the end table next to his favorite chair, but that’s the only evidence of him having sat there.
“Hello?” His car was in the driveway. He could’ve walked down to the corner store. That would explain the blaring TV, a technique to convince would-be intruders there’s somebody home. “Dad? Are you here?”
I cast a look further back into the house, past the dark dining room that never gets used anymore. The kitchen sink is visible from here, and it’s piled high with dirty dishes. There are more bottles on the counter, too, and a stack of filthy pans.
“What the hell has been going on around here?” The quiet house offers up no answers. I don’t know if I should start cleaning or look for him first.
A soft thud from overhead decides for me. “Dad?” I creep toward the foot of the stairs and wrap my hand around the carved post. “You up there?” Only now does it hit me that there could be an intruder in the house.