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)
“Enough. He’s not his parents.”
That was the first time I’d heard my dad raise his voice. My mom was stunned too. Over the years, I have realized the reason why my dad doesn’t say anything to Mom. It’s because he loves her. A little too much, I think. He lets her control his life; he lets her run things because that’s what makes my mom happy. To be in control of things.
I have seen the way he looks at my mom, with love and a little bit of frustration. It makes me sad that my dad does everything to make her happy, including sometimes neglecting me, but my mom doesn’t realize that.
But right then, I could’ve hugged my dad for defending Abel. I couldn’t though; I was hiding inside my room, avoiding Mom and her sharp hands.
“Well, you should remember your words because you’ll eat them. You and your daughter both. He’s going to turn out like his parents: corrupt and immoral. Blood is thicker than water, isn’t it? And his blood is bad; you can’t change that.”
I thought things would get easier after the grounding was over. But no.
My mom takes me to and from school like she used to before. She doesn’t let me get away from her eyes even for a second. I’m not allowed to go to my treehouse or stay back at the library.
I only see Abel in passing around town, where he still works for Mr. B, or at church, where, because of my mom and Mrs. Weatherby, he’s become even more infamous. But he keeps going, he keeps his head high because he knows I’ll be there. He keeps his anger hidden. For me.
Damn it, I don’t know what to do. Some days are so hard. So fucking hard. I don’t want to get up in the morning. I want to keep sleeping on the off-chance that I dream of him and see his smirk or touch his soft t-shirt, warm muscles and gorgeous hair.
“I want to hug you,” I tell him one night over the tiny secret phone he gave me so long ago, which I now hide under the loose floorboard in my room.
“Close your eyes.”
At his whisper, my eyes flutter closed. “Okay.”
“Do you see me?”
“I always see you.”
“Now imagine me leaning over and putting my arms around your waist.”
I do. I imagine it. I wrap my own hand around myself, though my arm isn’t as heavy or warm, nor does it make me feel as secure. I smell the air and pretend it smells like apples, when it’s probably the moth balls and laundry detergent.
I want to cry but I promise myself that I won’t. I’ll be tear-free tonight. No one wants a crier for a girlfriend. “Are you fisting my dress?”
“Are you wearing your sexy as fuck pink dress?”
I clamp my thighs together. “Yes. For you.”
He groans and I hear rustling. “Fuck.”
“And are you smelling my skin?” I bite my lip, rubbing my shoulder on my cheek, imagining his soft nose and velvet lips on the spot.
“And sucking on it.”
“But you can’t leave a mark on me.”
“One day I will.”
“Abel…” I moan, picturing red and purple marks all over my body. They will hurt and throb like bruises do. But I won’t mind them. No, I’ll welcome them because they are made out of love. Too much love. Something so passionate that it becomes painful.
“You’re imagining it, aren’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Yeah. You want me to mark you. And you know what, Pixie?”
“W-what?”
“I wouldn’t stop at your neck. I’d mark you everywhere. On your back, your waist, your soft stomach. I bet it’s silky. Silky and so fucking smooth. I’ll suck on the skin, use my teeth and let it go with a pop. It’ll be red by the time I’m done with it. Maybe as red as your nipples.” A grunt. “I keep thinking of them. I keep thinking about your pussy. How wet it gets. How soft it is. Fuck, it’s so soft. Softer than anything in this goddamn world. I should probably be gentle with it, you know. Like, real gentle and slow, but I don’t think I can be.”
“Why not?” I writhe on the bed, slide my feet up and down, turned on out of my mind.
“Because I’ve waited too long for it. Too fucking long.” There’s rustling at his end. “You’ve made me wait, haven’t you? You’ve made me go crazy for that sweet pussy.”
I love it when he talks like that, when his desperation becomes so thick it saws away at his voice. But he’s right. I’m a major idiot for making him wait and playing those games. He loves me so much and I love him, too. And now we can’t see each other as often. I thought we had time until they snatched it away from us.