Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 97684 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 488(@200wpm)___ 391(@250wpm)___ 326(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97684 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 488(@200wpm)___ 391(@250wpm)___ 326(@300wpm)
To hold her until—
I don't even know.
But then it doesn't matter. I can't have that. It's not within the realm of possibility.
"I, uh…" She presses the book closed, slips it into her tote bag, crosses her legs. "Bad, like I said."
"I liked it."
Her eyes fix on mine. "Yeah?"
"Maybe it's not good. I don't know. I couldn't tell Shakespeare from a cereal box. But it's raw. Real."
"Yeah."
"You, uh…" I reach for the right thing to say. Fail to find it. "That's a talent in its own right."
"Writing angsty poetry?"
"I'm not saying it will pay the bills. Or that you need to pursue it. But if it makes you happy—"
"It's not that exactly."
"What?"
Her eyes meet mine for a moment, then they drift to my hands. To the drawing on my cell. "It's more that if I don't write, my head gets too full. All my thoughts jumble."
"What do you write?"
"Besides bad poems?"
"Yeah."
"Mostly, I journal, I guess. I pour my thoughts onto the page. It's like that old expression. Writing is easy. Just cut yourself and bleed onto the page."
Fuck, that's heavy. "Does it feel like that?"
"Yeah, but…" She wraps her fingers around her wrist. "In a good way. It's painful sometimes, but I always feel better after."
"Always?"
She nods.
"I get that." I turn to my cell, flip through my sketches. There's no Wi-Fi here. No data either. But I have some stuff on my phone. "When I can't figure something out, I draw."
"There are things you can't figure out?"
"A lot of them."
Her laugh is easy. "Like what?"
"How to help the people I love." I clear my throat. "Other stuff too. There's this voice in the back of my head. I usually move too fast to hear it. I try to stay busy. With work. Or the gym. Stupid TV shows. Sex."
She nods with understanding.
"It keeps that voice quiet. But when I sit with it… I start to ask myself what the fuck I'm doing with my life."
"You don't want to be a tattoo artist?"
"No." I swallow hard. I don't talk about this with anyone. I've never told anyone. But I want her to know. "I love my job. It's more… the rest of my life. I try not to get too attached to anyone. Or anything. Because that's more pain. There's no way to love without losing. And when you lose someone…" My gaze shifts to the ocean. "I don't want to be like my dad. He's not the same. He's never going to be the same."
"After your mom?"
I nod.
"Do you think he'd trade that time?"
"What do you mean?"
"That he'd give up the years he had with her to take all the pain away."
"No. He says it's worth it." But I don't see how. How can anything be worth two years of not getting out of bed? Of looking at the world like it's a dark place? "But he has to say that. He wouldn't have kids if—"
"Maybe he means it."
"Maybe."
"I've only met him a few times, but he seems more like Forest than you."
My laugh breaks up the tension in my shoulders. "What's that supposed to mean, kid?"
"Hmm." She plays dumb. "What could it mean? Could it have anything to do with both of them being sincere and you being—"
"Full of shit?"
"I was going to say… having a persona. But yeah," she says. "I don't know if it's worth it." Her gaze flits to her brother. "I wonder sometimes. I have nightmares about Oliver dying in a car crash. Or aspirating in the middle of the night. And I think… I don't know if I could live with that."
"What's the alternative?"
Her gaze shifts to the floor. "I just… I know what you mean. Who wants to open themselves up to that hurt? To let someone else reject them?"
"Yeah."
"I… I don't. But then…" Her eyes meet mine. "I really do like you."
"I like you too."
"And I… well, if you wanted to let your guard down, show me the real guy under the… uh, persona. I liked him last night."
"That was—"
"Sweet."
"Yeah."
"I, uh… I hope you do. Even though… it's a risk."
"Yeah."
Her smile is soft. "I always had you pegged as a risk taker."
"Some are scarier than others."
She nods true. "I, uh, I can't really talk. I'm still shaking, thinking about you reading the other stuff in there."
"It's not as bad as you think."
"No, it's more… what it says about me. Things you don't know. I think about telling you. I… I guess this is a start."
"You can tell me anything."
"But it might change the way you look at me. The way you think of me. Some things do. And I… I like the way you look at me."
"Me too." God, I really like the way she looks at me.
She leans back. Rests her head on my shoulder. "I promised myself I'd only think good thoughts today."