Total pages in book: 38
Estimated words: 35217 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 176(@200wpm)___ 141(@250wpm)___ 117(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 35217 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 176(@200wpm)___ 141(@250wpm)___ 117(@300wpm)
“It’s not fine, Violet. I know what happened to you. It was him, wasn’t it?”
“Him, who? Jim, seriously, let me out.” I grab at the handle, but the door is locked.
“I should have reported him to the cops the second I saw you two.”
“Wait, Jim. I think you have the wrong idea. Please, just pull over. I want to get out.” He does the opposite and speeds up. My hands begin to shake. Without bringing attention to myself, I take out my phone and hit redial, pulling up the last person I called. Shit. Hazel. Please pick up, please pick up.
“I’ve invested a lot of time in you, Violet. It’s about time you let me take care of you.”
“What are you talking about? We don’t even know each other.”
He slams his fist on the steering wheel, his speed increasing. “I’ve watched you since the first day of class. It wasn’t by accident I ran into you at that party. I cared enough to track you down. Because I knew how special you were. I put in the time. I gave you the proper space and time it takes when courting a girl.”
Courting? What the fuck? “This is insane. I never showed interest in you. Slow down. You’re gonna kill us.”
“Never showed interest? All the times you stayed after class to talk to me! Gave me your number! Danced with me!”
“You got my attention, Hazel gave you my number, and it was just a dance. Jesus, this is insane! Pull the fuck over!”
“NO!” Jim blows a stop sign, and I scream, blocking my eyes as he almost hits a pedestrian.
“Jim, slow down!”
“You are one ungrateful bitch, you know that!” He takes one hand off the steering wheel to claw at my thigh. “You looked at me with those eyes—those fuck me eyes. Don’t fucking lie to me and tell me you didn’t lead me on.”
This guy has lost his marbles. “You’re crazy. You’re horribly mistaken if you think I’m into fucking psychopaths. Pull the fuck over before you kill us!”
He won’t let up on the gas, and his speed is unsafe for the area. The roads are narrow. Soon, we’re going to come to a T. “Jim, please, slow down. There’s construction and—JIM, WATCH OUT!”
Heath
The next day…
My head is pounding. My mouth is drier than the Sahara Desert. I shift onto my side, an empty bottle of bourbon staring me in the face. “Fuck,” I grunt and sit up, the hotel room spinning viciously. My hands thrust into my hair, and my thumbs dig hard into my temples. Flashes of last night take flight into my mind, and I grunt, picking up the empty bottle and whip it across the room.
After leaving the house, I checked into a hotel. I knew it was best to give Hazel space, but sitting in the quiet room, it only allowed my mind to drown in my horrific reality. The shock and hurt in Hazel’s eyes haunted me and regret burned deep in my chest for not listening to Violet. Instead of trying to fix things, I drank myself into a stupor, needing to numb my mind, but it only made it worse. The pained look in Violet’s eyes. The way I just let her walk out of my house as if she meant nothing to me.
“Fuck!” Fighting back the bile traveling up my throat, remembering our exchange of words, I force myself to get up and head down to the hotel gym. I need an outlet for this pent-up guilt or I’m going to go insane. I look at my phone and see Hazel hasn’t returned any of my calls. I haven’t even attempted to call Violet.
I’m a son of a bitch. A coward.
She probably hates me. Which she should. She was right. We should have told Hazel. But the bastard I am just pushed the idea of being honest away because of my own selfish reasons. Reasons that don’t matter anymore because our secret is no longer that.
I hit the treadmill and sprint on a high incline mustering up the courage to call Violet. Beg for her to forgive me. My muscles ache and sweat builds along my forehead. By the time I’ve soaked my shirt, I’m heaving and still feel no relief. Trapped in the hell I’ve created, I hit the weights, pushing myself to the brink of exhaustion. My guilt is like a million, jagged knives cutting at my insides. When I finally pick up my phone and dial her number, I stare at it for too long, then erase the numbers.
Instead of going home, I call Gabriel and tell him to meet me at Exquisite. When I walk into the club, I wince at the neon lights from the dance floor intensifying my still throbbing headache. Clara, the head hostess catches my attention and I wave, signaling to get me a drink. Clearly, I plan on handling this like a weak piece of shit and drink until I become numb again.