Total pages in book: 38
Estimated words: 37123 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 186(@200wpm)___ 148(@250wpm)___ 124(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 37123 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 186(@200wpm)___ 148(@250wpm)___ 124(@300wpm)
Dad thought that was a great idea.
The real truth is, I did the Harvard interview over a video conference a week ago, but I didn’t need to tell my parents that. I needed an excuse to take a night before diving into my mom’s birthday nightmare, and I definitely needed an excuse to get the hell out of New York for a breath of air.
Yeah, it’s been a week. Or a month. Or a year, who knows. There’s school, law school applications, the LSATs, my job at the courthouse records department, and my creep of a boss.
And then there’s Trevor.
My lips pinch tight, anger flashing over me and ruining the moment of shower-calm. I blink, reliving what happened a few nights ago, before I finally left to stay with a friend. Looking down and half turning, I scowl at the bruise on the side of my ribs, and then turn to glance at the other one on the opposite shoulder from where the first hit knocked me into the table.
Fucking asshole.
My boyfriend—well, my fucking ex-boyfriend now—tried to make up for it by then trying to get me into bed, like that was his big “please forgive me” move. And then when I said no, he decided that trying to drag me in there was the next move.
Yeah, fuck that little prick with the little prick.
Thankfully, I got out, called a friend, and spent the rest of the night there before getting on the first flight I could into Boston. And so, here I am. It’s not like I ever love coming home, but it’s better than what was back in New York right now. I look up through the fancy non-fogging glass of the shower and into the equally non-fogging mirror across the bathroom. My eyes take in the bruises, but then I pull back and take in the rest of me too, naked and wet under the shower spray.
Yeah, fuck Trevor. He doesn’t deserve this anyways.
I close my eyes again, letting the steam and the water surround me and letting the world melt away. I honestly have zero idea what I’m doing next, but I need a change. Or a vacation that lasts a freaking year. At this point, it feels like I’ve been moving, and studying, and working, and cramming, and ignoring all pretense of a social life for years—maybe my whole life. And with one punch from my asshole of a boyfriend, it’s all come sharply into perspective.
I soap up and rinse off, deciding to skip washing my hair for now. I stand under the spray another few minutes, luxuriating in the opulence of it and trying my best to not think too hard about what my father does here. Yeah, gross. It’s not even that big of a secret why he has this luxury, total bachelor pad of a pied a terre. Yeah, he says it’s for those late nights when it doesn’t make sense to drive all the way home just to come back to the city first thing in the morning. But at this point, it’s pretty clear it’s so that he can get away from my mother and sleep with other woman.
As it happens, my parents are also in the middle of one of their epic screaming fights. Apparently, mom found lipstick marks, or a phone number or something, which means their house is probably World War Five right now.
Yeah, no thanks. One more reason to avoid this debacle of a birthday weekend.
I’d feel awful for my mother. But as it happens, I’m also well aware that she’s been screwing their gardener for the last three years, so at this point, they both deserve each other and whatever misery that brings them.
Yeah, a regular happy TV family over here at the Keen residence.
But at least for one night, I won’t be around them to hear them nit-pick every single detail of my life. No dad scowling that I’m not somehow already a supreme court judge at twenty-two. No mom asking me when she’ll be getting grandchildren.
Yeah, you now, in all my free time when I’m not too busy becoming a judge or a partner at a firm. No big deal, mom.
Eventually, I shut the water off and step out to grab a big fluffy towel. I dry off slowly before plugging in the hairdryer and combing out my long red tangles. Okay, maybe I should have conditioned. But seriously who the hell am I trying to impress?
I finish and put it away and take another second to look in the mirror. I pull the towel away, my eyes moving again to the mean looking bruise on my side, and the scraped second one up on my shoulder.
Fucker.
I turn, still holding the towel as I pad across the bathroom and open the door. I step out into the condo and head for the bedroom, when suddenly, every hair on the back of my neck goes up. It’s like a sixth sense—like there’s a little tingle that goes up my spine. I shiver, and I start to turn, when suddenly, there he is.