Total pages in book: 66
Estimated words: 76696 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 383(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76696 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 383(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
Zach pulled me into his arms, eyes searching mine. “Are you okay?” The worry in his tone banished my nerves and I nodded. Zach seemed unconvinced. “Tell me if I’m a selfish-bastard for letting you do that.”
“I wanted to do it. You didn’t coerce me into doing it.”
“But still. Maybe I should have stopped you. A decent guy would have done that.”
“A decent guy lets the woman decide what she wants to do and doesn’t make the decision for her,” I said.
“You are too fucking perfect.”
“Now I get why people say love makes you blind.” I cringed as soon as the words left my mouth. Zach ignored my comment altogether and kept stroking my arm.
It was definitely too soon for the word love. Only, I was pretty sure I was already in love with Zach. But I understood that he didn’t want to talk about love. We all had things that scared us, and maybe voicing his emotions was one of Zach’s.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Amber
When Zach parked his Hummer in the driveway of my old home, my stomach coiled with nerves. The last time I’d been here, I’d been a different person. So much had changed in the last couple of months, and yet I was terrified that I would somehow revert to my old self once I set foot into the house where I’d hidden myself away for three years. Zach squeezed my hand. Brian didn’t wait for us. He slipped out of the backseat and opened the trunk to unload our luggage and Pumpkin’s carrier. “You look nervous,” Zach said. “Shouldn’t I be the one who’s nervous? After all your father’s going to roast me for dating you.”
“He promised to go easy on you.”
“Well, that’s a consolation.” Zach kissed my cheek. “Now come. We don’t want to make your dad wait. He’s already watching us.”
My head whirled around. And indeed Dad was standing on the porch, his eyes focused on us. I opened the car door and got out. Zach grabbed our bag before he came to my side and took my hand. Together we walked toward Dad who was staring at me like I was an apparition. His eyes kept darting to my hand, which was linked with Zach’s. We stopped in front of him and Zach let go of me to shake hands with my father who didn’t say anything. I didn’t think he was doing it to intimidate Zach; he looked too stunned for words. When Zach stepped back, I moved toward Dad and wrapped my arms around him. He froze, but then he hugged me back lightly. His hands barely touched my back as if he was scared of breaking me. I still didn’t exactly feel comfortable with physical contact most of the time, but this brought back only good memories. Memories of a time when everything was still as it was supposed to be. When I drew back after a moment, Dad’s eyes were filled with tears. He still didn’t say anything. I could see how hard he was fighting for composure. Heat pressed against my eyeballs but I didn’t want to cry today.
Dad squeezed the bridge of his nose, drew in a deep breath, then he nodded toward the front door. “Let’s go in. It’s too cold to stand on the porch all day.”
The moment I stepped inside, my throat tightened. I wasn’t sure why. It was ridiculous to be scared of a place. This wasn’t even where I’d been attacked. But it was the place where I’d tried to kill myself twice, where I’d learned to hate life and myself, where I’d spent hours resenting my father for saving me, and my brother for leaving my father alone with me. Three years of darkness and despair, of fear and frustration – that’s what the house meant for me. The memories of those three years covered up every good memory I’d made in the sixteen years before the incident. What if the darkness and despair harbored in these walls were strong enough to cover up every good memory I’d made since I’d moved out? I still remembered the day I’d tried to kill myself for the second time. I’d taken one of the razorblades Dad kept hidden in his sock drawer and I’d sat down on the bathroom floor because I didn’t want to ruin the carpet in the other rooms and then I’d drawn the blade across my skin. It had hurt like hell and I didn’t get a deep cut on the first try, so I had to do it again with more pressure. My palms were slick with blood and sweat, but I wasn’t crying. I was calm, my hands steady. I watched the blood trickling out of my wound for a long time until eventually I had to lie back and lost consciousness. Today, I couldn’t imagine doing something like that again, not only because I didn’t want to hurt those around me, but also because I wanted to live. And yet I could remember the despair of that day as if I was actually feeling it right this second.
Dad was talking but I didn’t hear him. Oh God, not a panic attack. Please. I didn’t want to lose it in front of dad who actually looked happy for once, or Brian who had been looking forward to Thanksgiving, or Zach whom I’d almost convinced that I could be a normal girl. I wanted to be normal. I wanted to go through life without fear and anxiety and panic attacks.
Zach cupped my cheeks and his face filled my vision, his eyes intent on mine. I focused on their blue color until there was no room for anything else. I breathed in and out, tried to calm the pounding of my pulse, tried to forget the past. Zach didn’t say anything, but even without words he anchored me in the present, built an invisible barrier between the hurtful past and me. I swallowed, then released a long breath. “Okay?” Zach whispered.
I nodded. He dropped his hands. Brian and Dad were watching us, and I couldn’t help but feel ashamed for freaking out like that.