Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 97525 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 488(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97525 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 488(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
I had liked using the fists. I looked at the woman beneath me and almost hoped she called me Brant again. Pushing off of her, I looked at my hands, ignoring her when she made a small sound. There was blood all over my knuckles. That was a first for me, but I felt like an MMA fighter. I started to wipe my hands clean on my pants, then stopped. Mom would be pissed if I got blood all over them.
I looked at the clock and cheered up at the realization that I had almost two hours to watch TV before my mom showed up.
I climbed over her body and headed up the stairs with a smile. Wait until Dad heard about this.
Chapter 74
Brant finishes telling the story, his voice tight with torment. There’s a moment I think he's going to cry, when he's describing how the skin on her face tore under his knuckles, but he makes it through, then inhales deeply and looks at me as if he’s afraid of what I might say.
We’re still in the car, my door open, the morning chill frosting my neck and I grip his hand in mine and bring it to my mouth, kissing his knuckles. "Brant, it wasn't you. You know that."
"What I just remembered ... that was me. Me peering into another world that makes no rhyme or reason. I did that. I hit her over and over, like she was a punching bag. It had been like a game, one that I played until I was bored of it. My mother..." His voice drops and he reaches up and pinches the skin between his eyes. "My mother came home and found me on the couch, watching television, eating popcorn, with Jillian’s fuckin' blood on my hands." He lets out a hiss. "I remember it like it was me, even though it wasn't. Why am I suddenly remembering that? After twenty-seven years of nothing."
"Do you know Lee? Remember any memories of his?" I am almost scared of the answer, of watching his reaction to Lee's memories.
He shakes his head. “I don’t know anyone named Lee. No. I have ... nothing, Layana. One memory, that's it. But fuck, that's enough. After that, I don't want any more."
I squeeze his hand and release it. "Let's go inside. Stop thinking for a bit and let me baby you."
Anna has earned every bit of her generous salary. We walk into a house that smells of food and home, the staff ducking out of the rooms upon our arrival. Brant sits down at the kitchen table and doesn’t say a word. His fork starts moving, and there is no sound but the scrape of his fork against the china and the quiet sounds of him chewing. His eyes are on the plate, his chair pulled close to the table, and within five minutes, a lobster and spinach omelette and two waffles are gone. When he finishes, he stands with a quiet cough and wipes his mouth with a linen napkin. "Please tell Christine thank you for the food."
"I will. Anna prepared the spa, if you want to soak in the hot tub.”
“I'll just take a shower.”
I nod and smile. "Of course."
Suddenly we feel like strangers, two lovers awkward in their own home. I don't know what to say to him and he seems embarrassed, all over a situation I have known about for years. I want to hug him. I want to pull out his fears and lay them to rest. Kiss him and tell him I will always love him. But he has a cloud around him, one that screams 'don't touch!’ So I stay in place and watch him head for the bedroom.
I reach for his plate and Anna scurries around the corner. "Let me get those, Ms. Fairmont."
"Thanks." I drop my hand and sigh. "Did you reach the doctor?"
"Yes, she'll be here within the hour."
"Good. Please show her to our room when she arrives.”
"Certainly."
Having no more purpose in the kitchen, I walk to our bedroom, easing open the door quietly before stepping inside. The lights are off and the black-out shades are down, the only illumination coming from the glow in the hearth and a flickering candle beside the bed. There’s the crackle of the fire and the comforting smell of vanilla and coconut. I pass through and enter the bathroom, checking to see that towels are heating. Then I sit on the teak bench beside the tub and stare at the fogged glass of the steam shower.
I stare at the blurry movement behind the glass and try to guess at what this man wants. I have no idea what his thought process must be. I’ve tried to put myself in his shoes, but the situation is so foreign. I can’t connect with the idea of not knowing what I’ve done or how long I will be present in this psyche. I know how much unknown I have to accept as his girlfriend and how hard that is. How much trust I have to put in the Brant I know, but what about the versions I don’t? The one he described in the car… that explains a little of Jillian’s trepidation, her continual warnings.