Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 104239 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 521(@200wpm)___ 417(@250wpm)___ 347(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 104239 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 521(@200wpm)___ 417(@250wpm)___ 347(@300wpm)
“Let’s go.”
Delilah follows me from the house and out to the waiting car. Rather than leave her bag in the trunk, she chooses to hold it in her lap, both arms wrapped around it. A shield? Or a subconscious need to protect what little is hers? Probably both.
The silence between us is heavy. I stare out the window, knowing I ought to be thinking about Corium, and everything I’m sure has piled up on my desk since leaving. My thoughts shouldn’t be trained on the girl sitting beside me. And I thought I’d be able to get her out of my life. I should’ve known better.
She’s not going to be the one to break the silence. Nor should she be. What do I say? That I’m sorry I scared the hell out of her? Should I tell her if she thinks this is bad, she should have known me years ago? I doubt that will do much good, even if it’s the truth.
But I have to say something. My conscience—what there is of it—won’t let me get away with leaving this unsettled between us. I have to put it away before we part ways once we reach the school. And that’s exactly what we’re going to do. It’s the only way to get through this.
It isn’t until we’re on the plane that I clear my throat, sliding a glance her way. She goes rigid in anticipation of what’s to come. “I, uh…”
Before I can finish stammering, she says, “Don’t bother.”
“You don’t know what I was about to say.”
“It was going to be some clumsy excuse for the way you treated me.” To my surprise, she looks straight at me, her expression one of bland acceptance. “Well? Am I wrong?”
I can’t even correct her on the clumsy aspect because it would certainly have been pitiful. “You deserve to know why.”
“Like I said, don’t bother. I don’t need to know why. It doesn’t change anything. People always have their reasons for what they do, right?” She turns away again, looking down at her hands where they sit in her lap. “I know I’m nothing. I can accept that.”
“Who said you’re nothing?”
“You mean besides everybody my entire life? Some things don’t need to be said, anyway. Actions speak louder than words—isn’t that how the old saying goes?”
Fuck me. She knows how to make a man feel roughly two inches tall.
“No.” She sighs. “I know who I am. I know what I am. A hole for you to fuck. It doesn’t even have to be a wet hole.”
I’m burning with rage. Frustration. Yes, even shame. There’s nothing like having a bright, unforgiving floodlight pointed at you to expose every last flaw. I’m at a loss for words. Nothing I say is going to make a difference, anyway. Such as how I wouldn’t go to the lengths I’ve gone to for a mere hole to fuck. She might think she understands how things work in my world, but if she truly had a clue, she’d know the repercussions for sheltering her might be dire. I’m sure I don’t have many friends right now.
She plotted to kill my daughter, yet she’s still alive. That alone ought to prove she means more than a fuck toy.
The more I think about it—all the examples of what I’ve done for her, the risks I’ve taken, the enemies I might have made—the deeper my rage grows until I want nothing more than to hurt her. Why is that where my impulses immediately lead? Because there’s no other way for me to vent this. Being underestimated, disregarded. Who the fuck does she think she is?
She thinks she’s the girl I roughed up last night. Little does she know that was nothing compared to what I did earlier.
Things still haven’t improved when we board the helicopter to Corium. Now I don’t care to try to make amends. In fact, it’s better this way. She might have done me a favor. I didn’t know how to tell her what’s coming once we arrive. Now, I almost look forward to it. The excuse to push her away for good, knowing she’s too pissed at me to take it personally or ask for a bunch of explanations.
There’s a reason we’re doing this at night. I sense her apprehension as we step down from the helicopter. I led her through the snow and into the school not so long ago. It feels like years. Then I had righteous anger on my side. Disgust. I wanted her to suffer. I wish I knew what I want now.
At least the halls are darkened and empty by the time we step over the threshold and into the familiar entry hall. She does her best to pretend to be brave, but I know relief when I see it. Nobody is here to witness her arrival. Nobody to threaten or blame her. I’m sure that will come later, but it’s her problem. I’ve already made the mistake of getting far too close to her. This is as good a time as any to remind her—and myself—of the way things should have gone from the beginning.