Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 129460 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 647(@200wpm)___ 518(@250wpm)___ 432(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 129460 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 647(@200wpm)___ 518(@250wpm)___ 432(@300wpm)
“Dom… no… ugh…” I try to pull back to free my mouth from his tuna-casserole-scented breath, but the more I fight, the louder he moans.
He thinks I’m going wild for him.
In reality, I’m on the verge of off-loading my dinner in his mouth.
When I finally break free, I drag the back of my hand over my mouth while muttering through a gag, “Jesus Christ, Dominic. What the fuck was that?”
The fact I use Jesus’s name in vain already shocks him, much less my curse word. “You need to repent your sins. Now.”
When he reaches for my hair with one hand while the other moves for his belt like his dick is full of holy water, I slap his hand away. “Don’t fucking touch me, you creep.”
I use his pudgy gut as a springboard to leap for the passenger door, but regretfully, the excess weight he’s carrying in his midsection doesn’t slow him down. He snatches up my wrist with a painful grab before shoving it down the front of his pants.
“Dominic, no!” I shout when my fingertips brush his unruly pubic hair. They’re as sweaty as his top lip and have me on the brink of bringing up the dinner my grandma worked hard to prepare. “Get. Off. Me.”
A mere second before I win the battle by digging my nails into Dominic’s wrinkled dick, the driver’s side door pops open, his seat belt is wretched off him, and Dominic is yanked out so fast, his toupée is the only thing left in his wake.
I’m so stunned at the turn of events, it takes several seconds for me to comprehend what is happening.
Caleb has once again come to my defense, and once again, he is doing it with his fists.
“Caleb,” I shout when I realize one more punch could change the charges from self-defense to murder. “Stop,” I scream so loud five blocks over could hear it.
Mercifully, the Seattleite I wanted to hear me does.
Caleb freezes with his fists midair before he slings his eyes my way. They’re bloodshot and so heavily dilated, only slivers of blue can be seen. “Jessie?”
The unease in his voice breaks my heart, and it is heard in my reply when I say, “Yes. It’s me.”
Even from a distance, his alcohol-laced breath wafts into my nose when he glances down at a still breathing but barely functioning Dominic. “Oh, fuck.”
When he scrambles off him, his blood-stained hands shoot up to his hair, then he paces like he did the last time I interrupted him mid-psychosis in this very alleyway.
As he wears out the soles of his shoes, he mutters several painful words under his breath. “I thought it was him. I thought he was my grandfather. He was hurting you. I tried to stop him. Fuck…” He glances down at Dominic, then swears again, “Fuck. Did I kill him? Is he dead?”
“No, he’s okay. He’s just… resting.” When my pledge whitens Caleb’s cheeks more, I nudge my head to the foyer of our building. “But I need you to go inside, okay? I need you to walk away before you lose the chance.”
My brain should be shut down, I should be in autopilot mode, but for some reason, I’m not. I know the steps to take in a situation like this, and none of my responses have anything to do with Warren. It is from watching my father protect his flock.
“I can’t do that.” Caleb is clearly off his face, but I’m glad he stills knows right from wrong. “This is my mess, so I need to clean it.” His reply proves he heard what I said months ago, and it has me curious to discover if he also remembers what he said to me after I woke him from a night terror.
I think he does. He just isn’t ready to put the steps into play to mend things between us just yet. He is still using alcohol and drugs as a coping mechanism, and it has worsened since he commenced a bartending job several months back.
Although I’d like to keep my head buried in the sand as well, I don’t have a choice—regretfully. “This isn’t your mess, Caleb. It is mine. I brought Dominic here. I leaned in to kiss him—”
“Don’t lie, Jessie. You didn’t want to kiss him.”
He looks like he wants to say more, but he stops.
I don’t mind. His eyes share the words he can’t speak.
“You don’t want to kiss anyone but me.”
It is hard to talk through the lump in my throat when he cradles my cheek in his bloody hand. I don’t care about the droplets of Dominic’s blood on his palm. I hate how much I want him to touch me even knowing it will mostly likely break my heart.
I’ve had months to mull over the last words we shared, yet I’m still confused, but instead of seeking clarification from the source of my confusion, I’ve continued the avoidance game we’ve been playing the past year and a half.