Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 128980 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 645(@200wpm)___ 516(@250wpm)___ 430(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 128980 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 645(@200wpm)___ 516(@250wpm)___ 430(@300wpm)
I push my way into my room and immediately start pacing up and down, looking at the door constantly. I feel like a prisoner in my own home. Scared to roam free for fear of catching his eye or, worse, accidently brushing past him. I sigh and pluck up the courage to confront him, prepared to voice my fake grievance just to clear the air.
Heading out of my room again, determined, I find him nowhere to be seen. I check the kitchen, finding no life, and finally conclude that he must be in the spare room where he keeps his things and showers. But he still insists on sleeping on the couch. I look down the corridor and force my feet to move, knocking lightly on the door when I reach it. I wait for any kind of indication to enter, but hear nothing, not a peep from beyond the door. So I knock again, this time a little more firmly. Nothing.
“Jake?” I call, bringing my ear closer to the door. “You in there?”
I get no reply.
Taking the handle, I turn and push the door open a fraction, peeking through the gap. There are no signs of life. I glance over to the bathroom. I can’t hear the shower or movement coming from there.
“Where is he?” I ask myself, pushing my way into the room until the whole space comes into view. The bed is still perfectly made and on the end are a few piles of his clothes, folded and placed with precision. His bag rests next to them, the zipper gaping open. There’s something silver lying on top, catching the setting sun shining in from the window.
What is that? I glance over my shoulder as I creep forward, unable to stop myself. I should get out. I’m invading his privacy. But the knowledge that this might shed some light on the mystery and darkness that surrounds my shadow is far too tempting to resist. Besides, he knows so much about me. It seems only fair I have the same advantage.
As I get closer to the bed and the open bag lying atop of it, I can tell the silver is from a picture frame. A picture frame? My breath catches in my throat. A photo?
Another quick check to the doorway tells me I’m still alone. I stand in front of the bag, a good ten feet away, oddly scared to go any farther. The sensible side of me, telling me to walk away, is being hampered by the compulsion to see the picture in that frame.
I crane my neck as far as I can, one side of the picture coming into view. I’m holding my breath when I see a happy face appear. Jake’s face. My teeth clamp down on my bottom lip to stop any tiny gasp of surprise. He’s smiling brightly, his eyes twinkling, his perfect teeth on full display. I’ve never seen him smile like that, and his eyes are always so dark and serious. He looks so happy in the picture, and wondering who is on the other side of the photograph creating that happiness, I take the step needed to bring the whole frame into view. A beautiful woman with long, glossy black hair is cuddled into Jake’s side, laughing. My heart squeezes as I pick up the frame. Jake’s in combat trousers and a khaki T-shirt. He looks lethal behind his happy smile, his arms solid, the material of his T-shirt stretched across his biceps.
“What the fuck!” Jake’s loud boom sends my nervous strumming heartbeats into heart attack territory, and the picture falls from my grip. I jump and swing around, my palm on my chest, my eyes wide and frightened.
He’s standing in the doorway, annoyed, his chest heaving.
“I’m sorry,” I sputter, my cheeks heating under his fierce glare. “I thought—”
“You thought you’d snoop through my private belongings?” He strides forward and snatches up the picture, stuffing it in his bag and zipping it closed.
“Who is she?” The question I have no right to ask just tumbles right out, surprising me.
“None of your business,” he snaps and stomps into the bathroom. “Get out.”
I flinch at his harshness, swallowing down the unreasonable hurt that it’s spiked. I would love for shame to overshadow my curiosity about the photograph, but it hasn’t. That woman made him happy, and she’s clearly not in his life anymore. Who is she? And, more interestingly, what happened to make him react so violently to my inquiry about her? My tangle of thoughts is interrupted when he appears in the bathroom doorway. I can’t look him in the face. My eyes plummet down his body so all I see are his perfect feet. His perfect bare feet.
“You’re still here,” he says, gruff but calm, those feet bringing him closer to me.