Total pages in book: 64
Estimated words: 59310 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 297(@200wpm)___ 237(@250wpm)___ 198(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 59310 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 297(@200wpm)___ 237(@250wpm)___ 198(@300wpm)
I spend an hour waiting in the library, flipping through the pages of a book without really reading any of it. I can’t focus my thoughts on anything but whether or not he’s going to come. And if he does, what will happen. I’m sure he doesn’t like being interrupted.
What’s the alternative, though? Waiting a week? Or maybe even longer this time. There’s no guarantee when he’s going to decide he wants me again.
And the thing is, I might not know he wants me until it’s too late. He might spring out of nowhere and pin me down, and by then, it will be too late to tell him I don’t want him to ever, ever do to me again what he did last night.
I’m actually starting to doze off a little when the door opens. I jump, startled, my heart in my throat, looking up in time to see Lucian striding into the room. I can’t read his face. Is he pissed off? Concerned? Hell, for all he knows, he might’ve seriously injured me last night. That might be what I’m calling him here for.
He comes to a stop in the middle of the room, arms spread. “Well? Now that you interrupted me, why don’t you tell me what’s so incredibly important?”
The fact that he can stand there and talk to me that way tells me he still doesn’t see me as a person. He can’t, not after what he’s put me through. And it doesn’t matter that he tucked me into bed like last time. Eric was also nice to me after he beat the shit out of me. It’s like I exchanged one of them for another just like him.
“I’m not doing this anymore.”
I didn’t even mean to say it that way, but now I’m pissed off, too. And something is satisfying about the way his face falls. I finally figured out a way to knock him off balance.
“Excuse me?” he finally sputters. “Not doing what, exactly? Living in my house? Having free run of the place? Or maybe it’s the clothing you’re wearing. Maybe that’s what you don’t want anymore.”
“I never asked for any of this. I’ll happily give it back to you right now if you want.” I stand, unbuttoning my jeans.
“Stop it. You’re being childish.”
“No, I’m not. I’m standing up for myself. There’s a difference.” And now that I’ve gotten started, it feels damn good. I could get used to this. “And I mean what I say. I can’t do this anymore. Last night was too much. I’m going back to my place.”
He looks at me like he can’t believe what I’m saying. “There was nothing in our agreement—”
“I understand that. But I don’t think it’s exactly fair. I had no idea what I signed up for, and you know it. How can I walk into a situation knowing my voice doesn’t matter? You could end up killing me for all you know.”
The bastard even has the nerve to scoff. “You were perfectly safe at all times.”
“That’s not how it felt. You have no idea how it felt. But what made it worse was being ignored. Like it didn’t matter. Like I didn’t matter.” I put a hand on my chest, and it’s only when my voice cracks a little that I realize how deeply he affected me. How hurt I am on a level much deeper than anything physical.
There I was, thinking I meant something to him, and then he turned around and did that. Completely disregarded me because he was having too much fun to stop.
“I want to leave. I want to go back to my apartment.”
“Absolutely not.”
“You didn’t tell me I was going to be a prisoner when you brought me here!” I’m practically shouting now, but I don’t care if anybody hears. Let them hear. Let them know how much I don’t want this. “Thank you for what you’ve done for me, really. But for one, I didn’t ask for any of it. And two, this can’t go on forever. I have to get back to my own life, get a job and rebuild everything I’ve lost.”
He doesn’t say anything right away. I don’t know if that’s because he’s trying to control his anger or because I’ve completely blindsided him. I doubt he’s used to people standing up to him, telling him what they want. Denying him.
He’d better get used to it.
When he does speak, there’s a dangerous note in his voice. It’s too flat, too even. “May I remind you of our agreement? The terms of it?”
“The terms didn’t include me staying here under lock and key.”
He inclines his head. “You’re right about that.”
“So I should at least be able to go home. Have a little bit of control over my life, you know?”
“And what about the threat to your life? Has that suddenly ceased to be a concern?”