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)
“But I—”
“You love him?”
Ashamed, I nod. “I d-don’t want to anymore.”
“Just trust me.”
So I give him all my weight.
Because he said to trust him and he’s the only one I trust in this moment.
The only one.
I can’t trust him. I will never ever trust him. And I certainly can’t trust myself. I can’t trust myself because I’m the one who fell for him. I’m the one who thought he had more to him. I’m the one who didn’t believe him when he told me the fucking truth.
And I’m the one who’s weeping and wailing because this is the end of our story.
The end of Stellan ‘The Cold’ Thorne and Isadora Agni Holmes.
The Next Night…
It feels like the night of the charity event.
I’m dressed up in fancy clothes, a backless dress that’s held together by a couple of strings and has frills with a leaflet embroidery at the border. It’s black and significant. Because black not only is my least favorite color, but it’s the color you wear at the end.
Of someone’s life.
Black is the color you wear to mourn death.
I’m mourning the death of me and my love.
And it’s exactly the kind of dress he’ll hate. Because of how free flowing it is and how there are just too many fucking strings in the back than a dress could possibly need. It also shows off the two dimples in my back and the crack of my ass. I checked in the mirror to make sure.
So I’m dressed to kill and as if someone has killed me.
I’m seated at the table with my friends, Tempest, Wyn, and Meadow. Plus their partners. Even Jupiter is here, working on the waitstaff. Like before, one of the seats at the table is empty because my partner is nowhere to be seen. It’s okay, though; I trust him. I trust him with all my heart.
Instead of rejecting me and storming off in anger after I told him the truth last night, he held me for almost an hour as I cried in his arms. He not only held me, he took care of me. He stroked my hair; he rubbed my back; he told me he would fix everything. He said I didn’t need to worry about anything anymore. That he had it. He’s going to give me what I want.
So when he told me he was going to come pick me up the next day to go to this team event, I agreed. Even though I wasn’t in the mood to go anywhere. I didn’t even think I had the energy to go anywhere, but I somehow gathered every little piece of life I had left in me and got myself ready on time for him.
I wonder where he is, though and why he left me as soon as we got here.
Even so, I try to put on a good face for my friends. I try to focus on the conversation that’s happening around me. All three of them, Tempest, Wyn, and Meadow, unanimously told me that they loved the play. That they loved the plot, the costumes. But what they loved the most was me. They would’ve told me all this the very same night, but I’d disappeared. They’d looked for me, but when they couldn’t find me, they left. But they’re so glad that we’re all meeting up tonight so they could tell me in person.
For a couple of seconds when they’d started showering me with compliments, I couldn’t figure out what play they were talking about. What plot. What costumes.
Then it all came rushing back.
The play I was so nervous for. That he helped me run lines for. And the costume that he was stripping off my body in the closet. He said the same thing, that I was luminous.
Him. Him. Him.
It feels like everything is tainted by him.
Everything is ruined by him.
I am ruined by him.
Still, I act like I’m fine and smile like I’m not dead inside.
I’m so thankful when there’s commotion up front, by the makeshift stage, and their attention switches. Finally, I see my best friend up there. He’s at the podium and, leaning forward, he begins, “Sorry for all the fanfare and shit, but I wanted to say a few things. Number one: we’re killing it this season so, Seattle”—his eyes find the captain of Seattle’s team, Byron ‘Big Daddy’ Bradshaw—“you better watch out. Because we’re winning tomorrow.”
There are both cheers and boos from the audience because in addition to New York City FC, Seattle’s team is also present. Byron flips him the bird from where he’s sitting, and a chuckle runs through the crowd. Even though he’s smiling, I’d still be afraid of him with how big he is. How fierce-looking with his linebacker body and that full beard and man bun. He looks like a lumberjack who knows how to wield an axe like a Viking. I can imagine him tackling his opponents with his body on the soccer field as if it were football. Although from what I hear, he’s extremely agile and fast for having a body like that.