Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 79020 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 395(@200wpm)___ 316(@250wpm)___ 263(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79020 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 395(@200wpm)___ 316(@250wpm)___ 263(@300wpm)
It's no wonder I'm not enough for Hemlock or Owen or whatever the fuck his name is.
I growl in irritation. This isn't about me! I don't know why I keep reverting back and letting my mind convince me that this is my problem. I didn't create this situation. This was done to me.
I pull in a deep, irritated breath because I can't keep seeing myself as the damn victim either.
I consider getting some serious fucking therapy wherever I land, because internalizing all of this shit has the ability to make me crazy.
The roar of a motorcycle makes me stop mid-fold of a towel. I swear the damn thing stops right in front of my house before the engine cuts out, but it has to be wishful thinking. I hate that it's hope rather than fear that tries to seep its way inside of me. I don't need him here. I don't want him here, but that doesn't stop disappointment from pooling in my gut when the doorbell doesn't ring.
I continue to fold the towels I'm packing, leaving one out for my shower tonight, before packing the other three into a prepared box. Four towels. I have only four towels. If I let myself analyze that a little too hard, I know I need two. One is for current use while the other is in the wash, meaning I have double what I'll ever need.
It's pitiful.
My entire life is sad and miserable.
The knock on the door startles the shit out of me, making my hand slip on the box I'm taping closed.
The sting of pain tells me I've caused a paper cut. I have no doubt the way my heart begins to race will mean that it'll bleed more than normal.
Lifting my finger to my mouth, I walk toward the door. It won't be him. There's a likelier chance that it's Tommy coming back to get the final word or begging me to take my job back at the bar because Edith is threatening to quit if I don't.
"No," I say the second I pull open the door, but Tommy isn't the one standing there.
Multicolored eyes take me in, dipping and cataloging every inch of my body. I don't know if it's the chill of the air circling around me or it's him that makes my nipples pull tight and strain against the t-shirt I'm wearing, but the drop of his eyes there tells me he doesn't miss the reaction.
I can't help but wonder if the cold chill is good or bad. I know the emotions are battling each other because my mind has been a war zone since I climbed in my car outside of that damned cabin two nights ago.
"You're leaving," he says, and I swear I can hear disappointment or something akin to sadness in his tone.
"I am," I confirm, hating that he can't seem to look me in the eyes, even as he stands on my front porch.
He comes to me, not the other way around, and he can't even be bothered to make eye contact?
The same anger that pulled me back into that basement room with him to slap his face begins to simmer inside of me once again.
"I checked the hitch on the U-Haul to make sure it was done correctly."
"I'm not an idiot," I spit. "I know how to connect a trailer hitch."
It's a lie of course. I'd still be at the rental place if the guy hadn't seen me struggling and come out of the office to help me. He doesn't need to know that though.
"Be careful on the mountain roads," he says with no emotion in his voice or showing in any of his features.
My head tries to convince me that he's here for a reason, that he wants to be invited in or something, but I refuse to feed into any of it.
My heart breaks a little further when he lifts his eyes up to mine for the first time since I opened the door, and I see the soulless emptiness in them.
He isn't here to ask me to stay. He's here to make sure I leave. My chin quivers, my emotions taking over more than I want them to.
I know the tear is going to fall seconds before it does, but there's nothing I can do about the burn behind my eyes and in my nose. If anything maybe I deserve the discomfort. Maybe it's repayment for being such a fool where he's concerned.
Straightening my spine doesn't stop the wetness from dripping down my face, and my pain doubles when he does nothing but watch the path they take before dripping down my chin.
There's no twitch in his lip. That dimple doesn't threaten to get deeper. He's not happy. He's not sad.
He's... nothing. Empty. Emotionless. Uncaring.
All things he's been since the first night I met him. People tell you exactly who they are. You just have to observe and pay attention, but I never wanted to see him for who he really was. I wanted more because I know I deserve more, but projecting those needs onto someone else only leaves me disappointed.