Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 121996 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 610(@200wpm)___ 488(@250wpm)___ 407(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121996 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 610(@200wpm)___ 488(@250wpm)___ 407(@300wpm)
Manuel pulls up to the curb at the shopping mall in Bellevue Square. It’s close to Medina, one of the few retailers in our neighborhood where privacy is preferred over box stores. I exit the car first, waiting for Natalia as she slides across the back seat and gingerly steps out behind me. She seems as uncomfortable as I am about the prospect of shopping together, and I’m glad for it.
“I’ll wait here for you, sir.” Manuel shuts the rear door and returns to the driver’s seat.
I nod at him and head for the entrance, holding the door open for Natalia. She dips her head and seems to draw a large breath as she enters. Between the two of us, I’m not certain who’s wound more tightly.
“Where are we going?” I ask.
She doesn’t bother to write a response but points at the Macy’s just around the corner. We walk there together, and she finds the home section, examining the offerings while I check my watch several times over. I don’t have anywhere to be today, but it’s a habit. After what feels like an eternity, she settles on one of the bedding sets, gathering the package by the handle. I stare at her in dismay.
“Aliens?”
She nods firmly. Our eyes lock in a war of wills, and I’m waiting for an explanation. When she clenches her jaw, I can see that she doesn’t feel she owes me one. To my horror, her resistance sends a strange thrill through me. I don’t know what it is about her stubbornness that fascinates me. Perhaps it’s the fact that looking at her, you wouldn’t think she’d have such a backbone. She appears to be delicate, even skittish at times, but then she gets an idea in her head and pursues it like a dog with a bone. That tenacity is what got her the job. That steel in her gaze is what I reluctantly admired the first time I met her, and I find that admiration is rapidly transforming into something else. The shopping trip I had been dreading all morning is now more interesting as I imagine how she’d react if I were to bend her over and fuck her right here on one of these display beds.
She couldn’t make a sound as I shoved my cock as deep as she could take it. There wouldn’t be a noise from her disobedient mouth as I tangled her hair in my fist and shoved a hand into that god-awful suit jacket to grope her tits.
The image in my mind causes my dick to swell painfully, and I wonder if she can sense it. Does she have any clue what I’m thinking about doing to her? My eyes blaze a path over her body, and she swallows audibly, the sound getting lost behind that ugly fucking neck scarf. I want to tear it off. I want to rip it to shreds. And I think if I keep standing here staring at her like this, I just might.
She seems to understand I’m teetering on the edge when she sets the comforter near her feet and pulls out her phone.
He likes aliens, she types. He mentioned it to me yesterday when he was swimming.
Aliens? I consider the idea and shake my head. Who the fuck likes aliens?
Somehow, Natalia can sense my disapproval, and she narrows her eyes at me for the second time this morning. Her fingers move faster across the keypad, typing out a note with more force than the last one.
Children need creativity in their lives. There’s nothing wrong with a little imagination.
I’m tempted to argue that there’s plenty wrong with believing in things that aren’t real. There’s a reason I’ve never told Nino Santa Claus exists or given him money from imaginary fairies when he loses a tooth. It’s not my job to perpetuate lies. I’m preparing him for the real world, and as such, I keep him rooted in reality as much as possible. It isn’t out of cruelty. Rather, I want him to understand that fairytales don’t exist.
With this in mind, I’m on the verge of telling Natalia to forget it. He already has a suitable bed set at home, but as I’m standing there at war with myself, my eyes drift to a colorful display of children’s artwork. The piece in the front looks familiar in a way, and I don’t realize why until it stirs a memory of my mother. I can recall a time when she was painting a mural on my wall when I was a boy. The colors were vibrant, much like this piece, with blues and oranges and yellows. I asked her what it was, and she smiled, telling me I’d have to wait and see. She never got the chance to finish it, so I don’t know what it was supposed to be.