Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 83180 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83180 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
“Hey,” Dexter said, pulling me closer. “It wasn’t meant to make you sad.”
It wasn’t his fault. He’d done something nice for me. Something wonderful.
“I’m not sad,” I replied, the hitch in my voice telling a different story. “It’s just too much.” For me. “Too expensive,” I corrected myself.
“It’s just money, Hollie. And given the jewelry we’re surrounded by every day, it’s not that much money.”
I rolled my eyes and pushed off his lap. He had no clue. Only people with money could afford to say that anything was just money.
“We come from very different worlds, Dexter. I have no idea what a Hermes scarf would cost, but I can guarantee it’s way too much money. I’m guessing that’s a month’s grocery shopping right there.” I lifted my chin to the silk strewn on the bed next to us.
He scowled at me. “You’re right. We do come from different worlds. But I don’t see why that means I can’t use my money to buy you something nice.”
“I don’t need your money.”
“I know you don’t.” His tone had changed to the one I was used to hearing in the office but never here. Never when it was just us. “I don’t know what the hell I’ve done. Maybe you’re only happy when people are bleeding you dry.”
His words were like a physical blow.
“You’re saying my family are leeches now?” I stood on the bed, waiting for his reply. “I’ve never said anything that would make you think that.”
He didn’t reply and when I glanced at him, he was pinching the bridge of his nose. I’d learned now that Dexter did this when he didn’t like what was happening or what someone was telling him. “I can put two and two together and come up with four. You pay your sister’s tuition, your parents’ rent. Does anyone in your family do anything for themselves?”
I was so angry I was rooted to the spot, not knowing if I should punch him in the mouth or flee. “They’re my family. Are you telling me if your parents were alive, you wouldn’t help them out if they needed something?”
Dexter abandoned his cheese plate and tried to grab my arm. But I scooted away and jumped off the bed. I’d had enough of this conversation. I was ready to go back to my apartment. I’d call my sister, who was sure to agree with me that Dexter was a complete nutjob.
“Hey,” he said, following me into the bathroom. “I wasn’t trying to upset you. I was just trying to make sense of why giving you the scarf made you look like you were going to vomit all over my duvet. I could take offense, you know.”
I ignored him, fastening my bra and slipping on my shirt. “You’re ridiculous,” I said, my anger simmering, ready to boil over. He clearly wasn’t taking offense. He was far more interested in pissing me off. Leeches? “Not everyone who doesn’t have money is a leech. Some people in this world don’t have the opportunities, the talent or gene pool you did.” I pulled on my underwear and jeans, my anger giving way to a wave of grief over all those lives I could have led if things were different—all those opportunities I hadn’t had. I worked hard to make sure my sister could go to college and my parents always had a roof over their heads. But it was hard. There wasn’t anything left for me after everyone else was taken care of and sometimes, I could admit, it felt thankless. All Dexter was doing was reminding me of my responsibilities, and of how much I’d sacrificed to fulfill them.
I had to leave. A rumble of self-pity sounded in the distance and clouds of sadness gathered in my ribcage. If I didn’t get out of here, I was going to cry until I ran out of tears. And Jiminy Cricket, that was the last thing I wanted Dexter to see.
He came up behind me. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I shouldn’t have said that about your family. But it sounds like you go unappreciated. That’s all.”
His words were coaxing out my tears. “I have to go.” I scanned the floor, pretending to be looking for something so he wouldn’t see how upset I was.
“Seriously,” he said, grabbing my hand as I went past him. I tried to shake him off but he gripped my wrist tighter.
“I won’t have you—”
Before I had the chance to finish my sentence, he’d scooped me up, carried me to the bedroom and tossed me on the bed, capturing my wrists on either side of my head. “I need you to listen to me. Because this is getting out of hand. You’re overreacting. I’m clearly being insensitive—I’m pushing every one of your buttons, and I have no clue what’s really going on.”