Total pages in book: 121
Estimated words: 115344 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 577(@200wpm)___ 461(@250wpm)___ 384(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115344 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 577(@200wpm)___ 461(@250wpm)___ 384(@300wpm)
“I don’t want it, you hear me? I don’t want my control. I don’t want my heart. I just want you. I…” My throat is closing up again, blocking all the air, and I swallow. A big, hard gulp. “I’m nothing without you, Pixie.”
“See, that’s the thing. Maybe you should find out who you are without me. And maybe I need to do the same, you know. We need to find out who we are without each other. Because if we don’t know that, then how can we ever love each other?”
There’s a bad feeling in my chest. Real fucking bad. The kind I had when I stepped inside my empty house a little over six years ago.
“Pixie, don’t. Don’t do this. Don’t hurt me like this.”
It’s getting harder and harder to breathe.
“I’m not. You can’t write a story with dying characters. It’ll come to an end before its time. I want our story to live. I’m saving it because I want it to live forever,” she whispers. “Goodbye, Abel. I love you. Don’t look for me. Don’t run. No one’s chasing you.”
I try to wake up but I can’t. The sun’s too bright. My mind’s too fuzzy. I think I drank last night; I can’t be sure. I stink though and I wanna throw up, but I’ve got no energy for it. Every muscle in my body aches, so I swallow the bile.
Ethan comes into our room, opening the door with a big thud. Groaning, I blink my eyes open and see two of him. Two mouths, two noses, four green eyes. He says he wants me to eat something. He says I’ll kill myself like this.
“Good,” I rumble, then kick him out. I don’t need food.
I don’t need anyone.
Though I remember I need to be more appreciative of him so I whisper, “Thank you.”
I think he snorts.
I haven’t slept in two days.
I’ve called Pixie about a million times. She’s probably sick of me but I don’t care. I also don’t care that she told me to stop looking for her. She’s not thinking straight. There’s no way I’ll ever stop looking.
No way.
I’m gonna keep looking for her until I find her, and then throw her over my shoulder and lock her up. I will tie her to the bed and fuck her and fuck her until she forgets everything else but me. Or until I put a baby in her and she can’t run from me again.
I found her journal.
I can’t believe that I haven’t ever read it. I’ve watched her write in her journals for years. She gets an adorable wrinkle on her nose when she’s focusing, and sometimes she’ll even say the words out loud. Nothing that I can make out, but I’ll hear a slight hum.
It used to make me grab her and kiss all the words out of her pretty mouth.
It’s been too long since I touched her, since I’ve been inside her. I see her clothes, neatly folded, barely taking up any space in the room, and I have to stop and smell the fabric. My dick gets hard every time, thinking that she’s close. Her wet heat is within reach. But no. I won’t even give it my fist. I don’t want to. I never want to again. My dick belongs in her pussy and I won’t stop until I get it there.
She’d call me a weirdo but I don’t care. I’m not afraid to show how I feel. How she makes me feel. Crazy, out of control, obsessed.
Maybe that’s the problem. Maybe I love her a little too much. Maybe I smother her with my love, with my obsession.
We need to find out who we are without each other. Because if we don’t know that, then how can we ever love each other?
Does it mean that she doesn’t love me? Or at least doesn’t love me as much as I love her? Because if she does, then how can she take this? How can she take being away from me? Doesn’t it torture her? Doesn’t every breath she takes scrape against her throat? Though there isn’t any other choice but to breathe.
Sitting here on the dirty mattress, the mattress where I’ve loved her, fucked her, worshipped her a million times, I wonder if she thinks about me. If she wonders what I’m doing. How I’m living without her. Where do I sleep? Do I sleep?
I guess she knows the answer to that, doesn’t she?
I’m trying to look for clues in her journal, trying to see if I can find something that will lead me to her. So far, all the entries are about me. It makes me weirdly happy and satisfied.
It’s from her senior year, the year when we could hardly see each other because of what went down with me and Duke two years ago.