Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 76812 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 384(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76812 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 384(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
"You're more than welcome to stay here," I offer once Em has finished speaking.
Brielle doesn't confirm she wants to stay, but she doesn't turn Em down either. After a few long moments of silence, Em takes a step back. "The offer stands if you change your mind."
I follow Em to the door. She doesn't seem completely satisfied with the way things have gone.
"Beck, a word please?"
I pull in a deep breath and follow her from the room.
Chapter 10
Brielle
Emmalyn Anderson has always been nice to my face. If I'm being a hundred percent honest with myself, the only time I've caught her looking at me like a disappointed mother is after I've said something bad or cussed in front of one of the kids back at the shelter.
Her offering me a room in her home would be about on par with her kindness, but I know I can't trust it.
Em can't like me because no one likes me. I'm not a likable person.
Hell, most days, I don't even like myself, and that trend continues as I stay sitting in this closet rather than putting some distance between me and him.
Beck.
That's what she called him, making me realize that we haven't officially been introduced. I feel like a fool for thinking of something so trivial and stupid as I look down at the plate of food he brought to me.
This is the second time he's offered me something to eat, the third if I count him going back to the kitchen a second time last night and bringing me wrapped packages, as if he could tell that's what I felt most comfortable with.
As delicious as the pancakes look even without syrup, I just can't get past the idea that there might be something wrong with them. I refuse to listen to that voice in my head, warning me that everything in life is transactional, as I reach for the protein bar.
I'm on my third bite, not feeling that same urgency to eat quickly because he might change his mind and take the food away, when the bedroom door opens again.
He doesn't speak, but I do catch him looking in my direction before disappearing behind the open closet door.
His form moves in and out of my line of sight through the crack at the doorframe, but for some reason, not being able to fully see what he's doing doesn't freak me out too much.
I almost open my mouth to ask him what he's doing when he crosses in front of the open closet door, dragging the dresser across the room. He works silently, coming toward me and crouching down as if he's trying to figure out my line of sight.
"I'll be right back," he says before leaving the room. True to his word, he's only gone for a few minutes before he comes back in carrying a big television.
I look down, wondering if eating the possibly poisoned pancakes would be better than the way I noticed how his muscles flex with the effort he's exerting.
He mumbles to himself, his words getting lost by the time the sound reaches my ears, as he works on setting up the television.
I don't want it to feel like a manipulation, like he's doing something to accommodate me and the fact that I'm not coming out of the closet, but I can't help feeling that way.
People aren't nice and considerate of others for no reason. Everything they do, they expect something in return. I can't let myself believe that Beck is any different.
He's brought me food, and now he's setting up a television so I have entertainment. What is he going to expect in return?
The best thing for me to do would be to pull the closet door closed, but I don't know how he'd receive the rejection.
I also feel a little selfish. When living with Nathan and Xan, hours of mindless shows and binging a series was never an option. My stepfather said it was a waste of time.
After coming to the shelter, I found that a lot of the women did exactly that. After they were done with work and their kids were in bed, they'd sit on the sofa and just watch shows. It was how they’d unwind after a long day.
Of course, I had opinions about it. I'd been raised to see people who did that to be lazy because there was always something else that could be done.
Victoria urged me to fit in, to give it a try, and somehow, I got addicted to sitting quietly and watching these shows with them. It took months before it stopped feeling like I was breaking some sort of law. When I was angriest at Nathan and Xan after I'd get out of the shower, my skin still warm from the water, and have to put on a long-sleeved shirt to cover my scars, I'd watch until the early hours of the morning in an effort to disobey them.