Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 70797 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 354(@200wpm)___ 283(@250wpm)___ 236(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 70797 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 354(@200wpm)___ 283(@250wpm)___ 236(@300wpm)
He crossed his arms over his chest, his eyes full of intensity. He didn’t smile like he usually did when I stood up to him. My words seemed to actually mean something to him this time. “I wasn’t speaking badly about them. Believe it or not, I’m actually relaying facts to you.”
I slammed the knife down, right into the center of his forearm.
Like he’d anticipated it, he moved out of the way just in time.
The knife was stuck in the wood because it pierced it so deep.
People glanced at us from their tables, hearing the loud sound. After a few seconds of silence, they looked away.
Bones yanked the knife out of the table and put it to the side. “I’m gonna let that one go this time. But pull something like that again, and I’ll do the exact same thing back to you. So if you make a move, you better kill me.”
I stared him down with the same cold expression he gave me. “Oh, I will.”
We returned to the apartment, but I just wanted him to leave.
“Go.” I pulled off my jacket and hung it by the door. I yanked off my gloves next and stepped into my living room. “I’m sure you have someone else to kill.”
He hung his jacket by the door next to mine, like he wasn’t planning on leaving anytime soon. “There’s always someone to kill, but I work too much as it is.” He walked to my easel by the window and admired the painting I was working on. I was recreating a picture my family took last year at Christmas. We were gathered around the grand dining table, a large roasted turkey in the middle along with the rest of the feast. Red candles were all around, and everyone I knew and loved was gathered together. It was difficult to paint because there was a lot of detail in the piece.
Our conversation at breakfast was horrid, and I had no interest in continuing it. If he said anything, I’d grab that kitchen knife out of my fridge and go for it.
He stared at the unfinished painting and the actual photograph sitting in the corner. He stood with his back to me for a long time, admiring it quietly.
I waited for him to unleash an insult, to bully my family or my artistic skills.
But an insult never came. “You made this?”
I looked up from my spot on the couch, my arms crossed over my chest. “Yes. I’m painting it for my family for Christmas. Since I’m broke, I try to make them things. Maybe when I start making money in a few years I’ll actually start buying them nice things.”
“Why would they want you to buy them something when this is priceless?”
He sounded serious, but I wasn’t sure if he was being sincere. Anytime the subject of my family came up, he was harsh and rude. Seeing my happy family gathered around for the holiday would just infuriate him more. “I can’t tell if you’re joking…”
He turned around, showing me his dead serious expression.
Okay, maybe he was being serious.
“It’s amazing, Vanessa.” He hardly ever said my first name. It was usually baby. I’d gotten so used to the nickname that my real name sounded strange coming from his lips. He picked up the painting from the easel then carried it to the couch. He sat beside me as he examined it. The light from the window flooded the room, giving light to the piece. “So much detail. And their faces…look so lifelike. It’s only halfway finished, and it already looks like a masterpiece.”
Bones always said things I didn’t want to hear, so it was unlike him to flatter me just because. He could have not said anything about the painting at all and just sat down. But he seemed genuinely invested in what he was looking at.
I shouldn’t care about his opinion, but it meant a lot to me. “Thanks…”
“You don’t need to go to school. You are a painter.”
“I don’t know about that…”
“I do.” He stared at it longer then looked at the picture in the corner. “It looks just like the photograph. Was that last year?”
“Yeah.”
“Your parents didn’t buy your other paintings out of pity. They did it because you’re fucking talented.”
I lowered my gaze, unable to meet his look for the first time.
“Baby, I’m being honest.” He carried the painting back to the easel. He looked at it for another moment before he turned back to me. “Do you have any others?”
“I have one that I finished during the semester. It’s the one I told you about.”
“Can I see it?”
He just told me he liked my painting, but I was still nervous to show him my next one. I wasn’t a shy woman who let people’s opinions affect my life. I didn’t care what anyone thought of me, only what I thought of myself. “Sure…” I retrieved it from the closet and handed it over.