Total pages in book: 218
Estimated words: 209489 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1047(@200wpm)___ 838(@250wpm)___ 698(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 209489 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1047(@200wpm)___ 838(@250wpm)___ 698(@300wpm)
If I was lucky, dealing with him now might be the most stressful shit I ever went through.
If I wasn’t lucky… I didn’t want to know.
“Boa noite. Good night,” I told my Brazilian student with a wave before logging out of the chat we’d been in for the last hour.
After rubbing my forehead for a second, I gently tugged my wig off and set it on the mannequin head next to my computer. It had been really expensive, and I babied the crap out of it. I’d underestimated how hard it would be to find a shade of blonde that complimented my skin tone. Then, just as carefully, I took the nylon hose that covered my hair and put it beside the wig so I could have everything ready for my next lesson later tonight; he was a nice man in Seoul who was brushing up on his conversational skills before his job transferred him.
Being an English teacher hadn’t been my dream job, but I was really grateful that I’d grown into it so much. That I enjoyed it. It ate up the worst of my loneliness. Getting to talk to these people who paid to work with me was what kept me going. It was something to look forward to. I rarely got off a lesson with something other than a smile.
It wasn’t like my grandpa had known all those language classes we had taken together, and the years I’d been babysat by the Park family that shared our duplex, would come in handy eventually. But it had. I was so grateful for everything he had done.
Running my fingers through my chin-length, straight black hair, I leaned backward in the chair and let my head drop so I could stare at the ceiling.
The last two weeks had been so tense, I’d started getting headaches every day, and today wasn’t any different. I could already feel the pressure building in my temples. I was trying to be as careful with my words as I could with my guest in the other room, but it was really hard, even though I was a fucking expert at this point.
But I’d never had to be secretive at home before.
Twice, The Defender woke up randomly, always right around the three-day mark. Each time, he stayed up long enough to look pissed, grumble, and eat a meal while glowering at me like I was the reason why he was laid up in my bed. Like I loved sleeping on the lumpy couch and feeling awkward. Then, almost immediately after finishing eating, he fell back asleep.
Somehow, he’d managed to say about ten words in the whole week. I really tried not to talk more than I needed to, and if that was really fucking weird to me, I tried to be relieved that it didn’t seem to bother him. It was for the best. For the most part, my sentences revolved around me reporting Trinity news to him. Nothing bad.
Well, nothing other than another article I’d come across about him and that fire from a year ago that people were still trying to bring up. I remembered enough to know that he had totally fallen off the radar after that—for about half a year, I was pretty sure.
So I wasn’t about to bring that shit up.
While he was asleep, I tried to stick to my normal routine while avoiding the giant elephant in the room still sitting on the coffee table, reminding me that I needed to make some serious plans to leave. Every time I even started thinking about it, my stomach began hurting, which then led to me purposely trying to focus on anything other than moving. I started up my runs again, looking up at the sky every ten seconds, expecting to see something terrifying, but fortunately there hadn’t been anything or anyone. I went grocery shopping and made sure not to make eye contact with anyone.
But I knew in my gut that I really did have to make a decision ASAP.
I had to quit being a chickenshit.
But maybe later, I told myself again before sitting up straight and rubbing my face some more. I’d get it sorted. I would figure it out as soon as the superbeing quit feeling like such a liability.
Opening the door to my office as quietly as possible, I headed back to the living room, trying to decide whether to read a book or fold my wrinkled laundry. I’d barely sat down on the couch when I heard a ringing sound from my room. I’d left a bell in there just a few hours ago.
I guess I was being summoned.
Getting back up, I headed to my room and, at the doorway, peeked in.
The Defender was on his back with the covers I’d pulled over him around his waist. Both of his hands were resting on his flat stomach, the bell back on the nightstand where I’d left it for him.