Total pages in book: 23
Estimated words: 21888 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 109(@200wpm)___ 88(@250wpm)___ 73(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 21888 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 109(@200wpm)___ 88(@250wpm)___ 73(@300wpm)
Nothing like getting shitfaced while the girl you were in love with was right across the hall, hating you.
Chapter Four
Lenora
The next morning
I’d been awake for God knew how long. I’d just stayed in my room, in the bed, staring at the ceiling, watching as light moved through the blinds to cast shadows across the wall.
The truth was, I was nervous. I was scared to face Beckham and this new day, terrified to face my actual reality. Since coming to his home and getting settled in the room, I pretty much stayed to myself. It was only when I heard him ask me through the door if I needed anything from the store and that he’d be back soon that I finally left the room and explored a little.
Although I’d been in this house before when I was younger, helping Beckham and his father paint when they were renting it out, everything was different. Leather furniture adorned the living room, and new granite countertops were in the kitchen. He got rid of the ugly lighting in the dining room, this god-awful ‘70s-style chandelier that hung over the table that we both used to make fun of. Now in its place was this modern, sleek chrome lighting fixture. In fact, he renovated just about everything in this place.
The bathrooms were redone, with no more gold-leaf mirrors nor Formica countertops. He got rid of all the nasty brown shag-like carpet, replacing it with hardwood flooring. It was gorgeous. I was envious.
The upstairs was a wreck though, with ladders and paint cans. He was renovating that, the loft style area, bedroom, and bathroom upstairs the only rooms above.
And after I grabbed something quick to eat a, I locked myself back in the room for the rest of the day. He hadn’t bothered me when he’d gotten home either. Maybe he’d know I needed my space. Maybe he’d know this was just as weird for me as it was for him. Either way, I knew I was going to have to face him… face this new reality eventually.
I might as well get it done and over with, right?
So I pushed the blankets off my body and sat up, letting my feet hang down, my toes touching the bare floor. It was chilly despite this time of year. I braced my hands on the edge of mattress and stared at the window. The blinds were closed, so I couldn’t make out what was happening outside, but I imagined how active it would get as the day progressed. People going to work, getting ready to start their day.
Which reminded me that I needed to look for a new job right away. I needed to start making money so I could contribute to staying here, as well as saving up so I could leave. God, I wish I’d had the kind of relationship where I could speak with my mother, where I could lean on her for support, where she told me everything would be okay.
My cell phone vibrated with an incoming text and I glanced over at it, picking it up and looking down at the screen. Speak of the devil. My mother, although I’d like to think her intentions were good, had always been self-absorbed. Her looks, the way she dressed, how she lived in general... it all screamed “Me.”
And so when I saw the text picture of the five new designer dresses she had sprawled out across her silk comforter on her king-sized bed, I felt annoyance. Her text explained how she was excited she and Rodney—the man she had the affair with and former student—were attending a charity event at a local country club. She had the nerve to ask me which dress she should wear. My mother, who knew how bad I had it right now, all but rubbed this in my face. My mother, who hadn’t even offered to give me moral support, let alone any financial help, sent me this.
All I could do was exhale in frustration and set the phone down.
She didn’t care about my problems, because me telling her anything, confiding in her, would only ruin her day. In fact, it had when I explained my job loss, the fact that I couldn’t afford my apartment. She’d asked me what I had done wrong to be fired.
She’d actually asked me that.
I ran a hand over my face, rubbing the sleep from my eyes, and slid my fingers through my hair, trying to detangle the strands. I stood and walked over to my bag, grabbing my makeup bag and a change of clothes, and then just stood there and stared at the door.
I didn’t hear anything.
“Stop being a baby. You’re twenty-two years old, a grown-ass woman. Just get it done and over with. Don’t let him know you’re still hurting or that you love him, and you’ll be fine.” I pulled my shoulders back and held my head high, feeling a little bit of resolve fill me. “Wear that fucking armor like you own it,” I whispered to myself, even if I felt like it was a lie right now.