Total pages in book: 184
Estimated words: 186756 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 934(@200wpm)___ 747(@250wpm)___ 623(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 186756 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 934(@200wpm)___ 747(@250wpm)___ 623(@300wpm)
“You—”
“And besides, from what I remember, you wanted me to be your daddy, didn’t you? So here I am,” he says, his tone laced with mockery. “Your new daddy and as long as I have you, the rest of the world can go fuck itself.”
But like a pathetic girl, it makes my belly clench.
Him calling himself that.
It messes with my head, my breaths.
My heart.
I clearly have issues. Big ones.
But I keep my focus on here and now and just burst out the words, “Oh my God, stop, okay? Just stop. Stop saying these things. Stop acting like this. You don’t act like this. You’re one of the good guys. Yes, you’re an asshole to me or whatever, but I refuse to believe that you’d do this to your own twin brother. And for what? For me. You don’t even like me. You think I’m spoiled. You think I’m young. You think I’m annoying and desperate. You said that to me. And I have tried, believe me. I’ve fucking tried to make you see. I’ve tried to make you realize that I’m different. That I may be young. That I may be reckless and impulsive and a little crazy, but I could make you feel something for me. But you haven’t. You don’t. So I don’t know what this is, but whatever it is, you need to stop. Stop fucking messing with him and—”
“You think I like this,” he says in a thick voice.
Thick and low and growly.
And I realize I’ve never heard him sound like this before. I’ve never heard this tone from him. Is this… anger? If it is, then again, I’ve never heard him angry before and so my entire body takes notice.
My own voice grows lower when only a second ago I was screaming into the phone in my anger. “Like what?”
“This. Whatever this is,” he says through clenched teeth.
And I feel the snap in my jaw. “I don’t—”
“I’m a shitty fucking brother, all right,” he says, his words low but his breaths loud. “I know that. I realize that. I know that he got stuck with me as his twin. And even though I’ve done everything I can to step up, I know it doesn’t make up for everything that I am. So do you think I like this? Do you think, even for a second, that I like watching my twin brother’s girl? As if she’s mine and feeling absolute zero guilt for it.”
I go still then.
He’s turned me into a stone with his words.
“Do you think I like following your every move? Tracking them like a fucking stalker. Do you think I like this burn I feel in my fucking gut when you smile at him? Or when you laugh.” Another puff of air, but I think this is more anger than anything else. “Do you think I like straining my ears to hear it? Do you think I like pushing people away, shoving them out of my way so I can somehow get closer to you, without anyone noticing, mind you, to catch it?
“Or maybe you think I like going to parties. I like going to bars and clubs and team events. Things I try to avoid at all costs and stay home in peace and quiet. So I can smoke one cigarette a day and read my fucking book. But I still make sure to show up at these fucking things because you’ll be there. You’ll be there laughing and flirting and fucking dancing. And you’ll be doing that without a care in the world. So then it’s up to me, isn’t it? It’s up to me to keep you safe. To keep an eye on things. To make sure no one’s fucking bothering you and if they do, then it’s up to me to gouge their fucking eyes out for looking at you. It’s up to me to break their fingers if they dare to touch you. It’s up to me to break their goddamn brains for even thinking about touching you. Do you know how many parties I’ve attended ever since I met you?”
“H-How many?”
“Forty-fucking-three.”
“I—”
“And there are 52.143 weeks in a year. Fifty-two weeks and one day. So I’ve been to a party pretty much every single week, more or less.”
“You—”
“And do you know how many books I’ve read since I met you?”
“N-no.”
“Zero,” he bites out. “Zero fucking books. Because A: I don’t usually have time to read them because as I’ve explained to you, I’m having such a fucking fantastic time being out and about in the world. And B: Because every time I do pick up a book, I can’t focus because I’m either thinking about this guy I’ve had to warn against looking at you or how loud you were laughing at my brother’s joke to make the said guy look at you.”