Total pages in book: 154
Estimated words: 142764 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 714(@200wpm)___ 571(@250wpm)___ 476(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 142764 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 714(@200wpm)___ 571(@250wpm)___ 476(@300wpm)
I jog up the stairs, heading straight to Drew’s bedroom. The door is cracked, so I take it upon myself to walk inside. The first thing I notice is the smell of burning wood, and I spot the small fire that’s going in the grate.
I look from the fireplace and to his bed, noticing that the covers are twisted and mussed, and his dirty clothes are tossed across one well-worn armchair.
There’s no sign of Drew, though.
I pad across the bedroom and peek in the bathroom, but it's empty too. Well shit. I tug out my phone, clamber up onto his huge-ass bed, and settle into the pillows that smell like him. Then I shoot him a text. I wait and nearly startle, tumbling out of bed when his phone dings loudly on the bedside table.
Jesus. I have to relax a little. Getting my heartbeat back under control, I figure it’s unlikely he went far without his phone, so it shouldn’t be long till he gets back. I slip off my shoes and snuggle under the covers, reveling in his warmth and scent of teakwood and mint. If life was perfect, this is what it would be. Him, me, us spending time together, and not worrying about all the other bullshit.
I know I shouldn't have to be concerned that my boyfriend is about to kill his father. That shit isn't normal. None of this is normal. So how do I fix it? If I told him not to do it, would he even listen? Doubtful. Drew is the single most hardheaded person I know. Telling him not to do something is the ammunition needed for him to do it just to spite you.
What if things go wrong? What if he fails, or worse, what if he doesn’t? Who will he be if he succeeds? Will killing his father push him closer to damnation, or is it the saving grace he needs to climb out of the dark?
These thoughts swimming in my head are the reason I barely slept last night. I inhale long and hard, using his scent to chase away some of my doubts and fears.
It’s not easy with our history, but after yesterday, after he’s been so transparent about everything, how can I not give him the benefit of the doubt? He’s changed. I know it. I see it when he speaks to me and touches me with reverence and respect. He touches me with love. Something I don’t think he could have fathomed when all of this started months ago.
And I know he’s noticed the changes in me too. The way I don’t roll over and take every blow, every slight. I’m no longer a wallflower. I’m a fucking wildflower. I’m his wildflower.
I roll over on the mussed covers and climb out of the lush bed to wander the room. I’m restless and need to move around to get some of the energy out. Yes, I trust him, but just because I trust him doesn’t mean that I’m not worried about him.
His father is a monster, and Drew is, admittedly, also a monster. I guess it takes one to kill one, but how much of a monster will this turn him into?
I pace by the edge of his bed, back and forth, back and forth. I continue pacing, and as I do, I scan the shelves around the fireplace, dark thick wood lined with battered paperbacks, textbooks, and a few old classics. Somehow, the old classics look fresher than the paperbacks. It makes me smile, and I skim the lines of books with my fingers reading the titles, tilting my head as I walk to scan each one of them.
Drew knows how much I love books and reading in general, but we’ve never talked about any of these books. He’s never indicated an interest in reading.
I continue, my smile growing wider and wider until I reach the end of the shelf. At the very edge of the shelf my entire body clamps up. My heart hammers in my chest, and my thoughts take a nose dive into the dark.
Lying there on top of one of the hardbound books is a syringe, with its clear blue cap over the needle tip. The contents are clear from what I can see. I twist around and peer over my shoulder, half expecting him to jump out of the shadows, but he’s still not here, and that only intensifies my worry.
I’ve seen him drink several times, but I’ve never considered that he might use drugs. I blink, and without thinking, I pick up the syringe to inspect it closer. What would he be taking that’s in a syringe form? God. I need to stop thinking about this. It’s probably nothing. Maybe a steroid for football or maybe it’s a shot for some type of illness.