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)
Staying in this room with me rather than going with Em when a bedroom at her house was offered speaks loudly of the fact that there's a part of her that feels as if she's safe here with me.
I shift my weight on the bed, moving to lift my arm to fold it behind my head. It activates my watch, telling me that we've been watching television for hours and it's well past lunchtime.
I sit up, grabbing the remote before climbing off the bed.
She startles, telling me that she'd managed to fall asleep. I manage to hide my smile at knowing that she's at least comfortable enough to sleep with the door open, as I lean over and offer her the remote.
"I'm going to go find something for lunch. Any preferences?"
She sits up, her eyes wide and blinking up at me, but I don't get the vibe that she's helpless. I imagine she'd try and claw my eyes out if I reached in to touch her, like a feral cat backed into a corner.
"I can heat up some mac and cheese. They have these little cups that just take water. There's a turkey club I can do that ends up decent enough for human consumption."
Her eyes shift, a little more life coming into them at the mention of the sandwich, and I know I have a winner.
"There are a ton of different kinds of chips. There's that cheesy kind you ate last night."
Another flash of pleading in her eyes.
"And the pickle—" Her nose scrunches. "Hold the pickle. Got it. Should take me about twenty minutes."
I find it more difficult than I should to pull my eyes from her.
She's young, nearly twenty-one according to her bio. I went back through the dossier we were provided a year ago when she came to Farmington, the entire time feeling like an asshole for not recognizing Xan Adair that day he showed up at the shelter. I was stuck in my own head and pissed that I was sloppy at our last job. I was stuck watching the shelter after spraining my wrist during a fall caused by stepping into a fucking bear trap of all things instead of doing things that at the time, I would've considered important. Babysitting Oracle's wife while she was at the shelter seemed like a waste of my time and training, but I find that I was wrong about that as well because Brielle was inside then.
"Want any dessert?" I ask, still fighting some strange pull to her rather than leaving the room and making the sandwich I promised.
Instead of replying, she pulls out a package of candy I brought her last night after discovering she only wanted to eat food that was still sealed.
"Soda? Water? Juice?"
"Water please," she says, shocking me.
I smile at her, and she looks away as if disappointed in herself that I was able to get her to speak to me.
I fight the urge to apologize, to tell her that I'm not trying to trick her, but I know the vows won't go very far. I know from experience that the only thing that will prove that I won't hurt her will be time, and she may still never fully trust me or anyone else for that matter.
I give her a weak smile, the only apology I can offer, before leaving the room.
I wait in the hallway for a minute until I hear the lock flip into place on the door.
With it being closer to two in the afternoon, the kitchen isn't as busy as it probably was a couple of hours ago. I'm stressing over getting the right amount of turkey on Brielle's sandwich when I notice Kincaid step up beside me.
"Is she eating?"
"Only the packaged stuff so far, but I'm making an effort at every meal."
"She'll get there," he says with enough assurance in his tone that I can't help but believe he's right.
I know I won't stop trying, no matter how long it takes.
"How's your wrist?" he asks, noticing that I haven't put my sling on yet today.
It was in a soft cast for a while just to keep it immobile, but after promising that I'd follow the doctor's orders to the letter, I was allowed just the sling.
"We've just been watching TV," I say like a child explaining why he was caught doing something he shouldn't have been doing.
"I'm not getting on you. How's the pain level?" Kincaid asks with laughter in his voice.
"It's a little better. I don't need painkillers any longer." I feel his eyes on the side of my face as if he's waiting for the second part of my answer. "It's a little tender first thing in the morning, but it doesn't take long for it to ease up. Usually by nine or so, it's fine."
"Ready to go back out in the field?"