Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 88936 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 445(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 296(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88936 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 445(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 296(@300wpm)
The problem with that was that she ended up being more than a pretty face. The more time I spent with her, the less I cared about what I was supposed to be doing.
She had awakened something in me that had a dangerous edge, and only she had the power to sate it.
When the truth comes out, and the threat that she will be taken from me rears its head, I do what I have to in order to keep my sanity.
I take her and run.
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
• One •
“I’m the reason you have food to eat and a roof over your head.”
Royal
The brand-new box of cereal I had bought yesterday sat open on the kitchen counter, along with two unused glasses, a jar of peanut butter, and the carton of milk that had been left on the stove. The bright side was, Grams hadn’t turned on the stove. Rubbing my face with both hands, I groaned. I shouldn’t have slept past six. Never a good idea. Not with Grams on the loose.
“You woke up hungry, I see,” I called out, then covered my yawn as I walked over to get the milk and tuck it back into the refrigerator before it went bad. Thankfully, it was still cold.
The sound of her shuffling feet coming from the living room to the kitchen was a relief. At least she hadn’t gotten out of the house. The new child locks on the doorknobs were working. I added water to the coffeepot. I needed caffeine. This was my only day during the week that my first class didn’t start until ten. Sleeping until seven had been my plan this semester, but if Grams was gonna start fixing her breakfast, that wasn’t going to be an option. Six o’clock it would have to be.
“There’s a man on the sofa,” she whispered loudly behind me.
I closed my eyes and sighed, then scooped the coffee grounds into the machine before turning back to look at my eighty-two-year-old grandmother. It was going to be one of those days. The days where she didn’t remember who her son—my dad—was. Sometimes, I wished I could forget him too.
“It’s okay, Grams,” I assured her. “That’s just Dad. He’s your son, Vin, remember?”
She frowned and glanced back while straightening her shoulders and lifting her chin. “That is not my son. Vinson is a fine boy. That man in there,” she said, pointing her arthritis-gnarled finger toward the door, “he stinks of liquor.”
Yeah, Grams, he’s always stunk of liquor.
Most nights, I managed to get him to the back bedroom so she wouldn’t see him in the morning. Last night, he’d been too difficult, so I’d left him in the living room before he decided to take a swing at me.
“He was at Miller’s Bar last night, Grams,” I told her, not feeling like sugarcoating it today.
I had to get to class, and I couldn’t do that if she was living in the past. Although I doubted my dad had ever been a fine boy.
“He drank until he got mean and started a fight,” I continued. “Glenn called me to come get him.”
The smell of the brewing coffee filled the small kitchen, and I inhaled deeply. I loved that smell. It reminded me of the past. The life I’d had growing up here when Grams’s head was still clear.
“Hmph,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest. “He did no such thing.”
I motioned to the cereal. “What did you fix yourself to eat?” Might as well change the subject. Arguing with her was pointless. She’d forget about him in there soon enough.
She frowned at the mess she’d left behind. “I don’t know.”
I reached for a coffee cup and filled it to the top. “I’ll get Dad up and have him go take a shower. Why don’t you have a seat at the table? I’ll fix you a nice cup of coffee and make you some toast just how you like it.” Which was too much butter on a slice of almost-burned bread.
I didn’t wait to see if she would do as told before heading toward the living room. The house was small, and I could easily hear her slippers as they slid across the linoleum floor toward the table.
The living room was a scattered mess. I had cleaned it up last night before I went to bed. Grams seemed to have been into many activities this morning. Including throwing things at Dad. There were several items surrounding him that didn’t belong. Smirking, I hoped the spoon she’d tossed at him struck his head and left a lump.
I stared at my dad. One of his arms hung off the side of the faded sofa that had once been a flower-printed velvet. It was patched up with duct tape in several places now and still held the stench of cigarettes from when my dad used to smoke in the house.
A low snore came from his open mouth, and drool dribbled out the side onto the pillow he’d found to sleep on last night. I started toward him and glanced over to see a bowl full of oat cereal with no milk beside Grams’s plastic covered green recliner that sat in the corner of the room. I hoped she hadn’t done anything gross to the cereal. That was too much to waste. I’d just bought groceries yesterday.