Total pages in book: 199
Estimated words: 200280 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1001(@200wpm)___ 801(@250wpm)___ 668(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 200280 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1001(@200wpm)___ 801(@250wpm)___ 668(@300wpm)
“What?”
“Nothing.” I draw the sheets up my body, trying to look all relaxed and casual. “As I said, there’s no reason for you to stay. Everything is fine now and…”
“And what?”
I tell myself that I shouldn’t say it.
I absolutely should not say anything at all.
But since I don’t know how to keep it inside, my anger and my words, I do say it. “And the visitor’s lounge is for family only. In fact, overnight stays are for family only.”
His jaw tics.
Standing at the foot of the bed, his hands fisted, his posture ramrod straight, he looks so large and intimidating. Like he could browbeat anyone to get his way. And I know he can.
Well, except when it really counts, right?
“And you’re not my family,” I tell him, raising my chin.
His jaw clenches harder and I think I see him flinch.
And if it’s true, then great.
I want my words to hurt him. I want him hurt and in pain.
Just as much as I’ve been in.
“Noted,” he says, his lips pursed.
“Good. So then you should —”
“But you’re mine.”
I fist the sheets so tightly that I know I’m cutting off my own blood circulation. “I’m not yours. Never was and never will be and —”
“My family.”
And that just makes me fly off the handle.
Because what a fucking asshole, huh. I remember the last time he said it. In the woods, and since then there hasn’t been a peep about this. And this is the moment he chooses to say that. This. When I’m so mad at him. When I want to smack his face.
When before this, despite myself, I waited and waited and waited.
For him to say that to me again.
“I’m not,” I tell him sternly.
“You —”
“I signed the divorce papers.”
At this, I know he definitely flinches. I know his body definitely staggers back a bit.
Although I have to say that it doesn’t feel as good as I thought it would. When I finally told him about the papers. When I finally threw those words in his face.
Yes, I was the one who asked for it and yes, he gave me what I wanted.
But again, when has he ever done that?
When.
Exhibit A: he won’t leave like I’m asking him to.
But he couldn’t wait to send me the divorce papers. Just like he couldn’t wait to leave me and go back to his precious soccer.
“Just because I haven’t gotten around to sending the paperwork back to you doesn’t mean that it isn’t done,” I tell him. “So there. I’m not your family anymore. If I ever was to begin with, so —”
“You think a piece of paper makes a difference whether you’re my family or not?”
“It certainly did, didn’t it? Before. When you had me sign those marriage papers,” I taunt.
His jaw tics and tics, causing the lines of his face to stand out in stark relief, causing his skin to get all flushed and ruddy. As if his blood is pounding inside his veins, rushing and hurtling and causing mayhem.
Then, “You should rest.”
With that, he looks ready to leave again and I’ve had it with him.
With his conveniently choosing to do what he wants and what I tell him to do.
“Good, great,” I say, clutching the sheet in my fists. “Leave! That’s what you love to do, don’t you?”
“What?”
“What, what?”
His nostrils flare. “If you have something to say to me, why don’t you just fucking say it?”
“Oh, you want me to say it, okay then.” I throw him a mock smile. “Let’s see: The very first thing you did after you made bail was to save me from my dad like some kind of hero. When you were the one, you, who ruined everything in the first place. So if you think I’m going to say thank you —”
“Didn’t do it for the thank you,” he rumbles.
I take a deep breath. “And then the second thing you did was file for divorce and had them mail me the papers —”
“You asked for a divorce,” he interrupts me again. “And asked me to have them mailed.”
“Right, and you do everything I ever ask you to do, don’t you?”
“I —”
This time I interrupt him and say, “And did I also ask you to leave town?”
His jaw is going back and forth but he otherwise remains silent.
“Did I?” I ask again. “Because you certainly couldn’t get away fast enough, could you? As if you couldn’t wait to get out of here. As if nothing was tying you to this town. As if you were leaving nothing behind. Nothing at all and —”
“I left,” he says, his voice lashing, “because leaving everything behind was my only option.”
I watch him then, study his face.
Or rather, his put-together face that doesn’t look so put-together anymore.
His skin doesn’t glow with health and his eyes don’t look so alert anymore. In fact it looks as if he’s shed his façade. Suddenly his polished persona is gone and he appears haunted and broken. Gaunt even, with sharp cheekbones and an even sharper jaw.