Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 69371 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 347(@200wpm)___ 277(@250wpm)___ 231(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69371 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 347(@200wpm)___ 277(@250wpm)___ 231(@300wpm)
Pulling up in the driveway, I see that the front lights are on because they are set on a timer. I get out of the truck and walk over to the garage door, punching in the code. The door slowly starts to open. The beeping sound fills the garage, making me duck under the opening door and rush to the alarm panel to put in the code. The minute I finish putting in the last number, the beeping stops. I wait for the door to open before pressing the button to close it. I kick off my shoes once I walk up the two steps to the mudroom, not even turning on the light. My bedroom is right off the mudroom, and when I step in, the only light coming in is the reflection of the moon and the lights from outside. The bed is exactly how I left it, with the covers half on the floor. I stand here for a minute just looking at the bed, my heart beating so fast in my chest.
My feet move before my brain does, and I'm standing by the bed, my hand going to the empty glass sitting there. I pick it up, my head screaming at me to put it back down, but instead, I sit on the bed and look down at the glass with the lipstick stain. My fingertips rub over it as I remember handing her the glass in the kitchen. The memories of that night come rushing back like a wave during a storm over and over again. I can't escape it. I close my eyes, hoping to block it out, but all I see is her over me.
Her head was thrown back as she straddled me in the middle of the bed. I look over, seeing that spot where her head was, and even after six months, it's still there. The last time I was in the house was with her. The last time I sat in this bed was the same time I told her that it was a mistake right before I packed my shit and left.
"What the fuck did you do?" I ask myself, hoping to answer my own question, but nothing comes out. The only thing I hear is the sound of the glass crashing into little pieces when it falls from my hand.
Chapter 5
Clarabella
The minute I shut the front door and hear Edward's car drive away, I walk over to the kitchen and take out the bottle of scotch that I have hidden in the back cupboard. A bottle that I said I would keep for company and never touch again. I unscrew the cap and don't even bother with a glass before taking a long pull from it. The burning hits all the way down, and when I close my eyes, the memories of that night come back.
"Working with you is so easy." He smiled from the other side of the counter as we both lingered. Until he asked me to have a drink with him at his house. I knew I shouldn't have gone. I knew it was a bad idea. I knew it, yet all I could do was say, “okay.” But instead, I left there with him and followed him to his house. There in his kitchen, with the lights on very low, he pulled out a bottle and poured us both a drink. Handing me my glass, he held up his. "To a great working relationship." I clinked the glass with his and stepped in a step. I took a sip of the scotch, and the next thing I knew, he was slipping his hand into mine and walking me to his bedroom. It was the best night of my life, and I literally had never felt so complete. It was everything that you see in romantic movies or read in romance novels. You have this connection with someone, and the minute you touch, it's electric. It all happened, or at least I thought it all happened until he woke up the next day and whispered four words that broke my heart.
I wipe the tear out of the corner of my eye, taking another sip of the scotch. The pain in my chest is just as much as it was that day. I ignore it all and push it far back in my head. In the little black box that I created for it. I walk over to the kitchen sink and pour the rest down the drain, tossing the bottle in the recycle bin.
The next day it's almost like I'm a zombie, or at least this is how I think a zombie would be. The black sunglasses covering my eyes which I had to spend extra time working on, to cover the fact that I tossed and turned all night long, pisses me off even more. I bet he didn't even lose a minute of sleep, the bastard, I think to myself as I walk up the steps to the office. I hold my coffee in one hand with my head down. I can feel a headache coming on and it's not even nine in the morning. Fine, the headache started last night after I left the restaurant, and I made it an excuse to stay at my place, knowing that he had to pack for an overnight trip he had to take for work. He's been going on those trips more and more, which, according to him, is a good sign.