Total pages in book: 64
Estimated words: 59448 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 297(@200wpm)___ 238(@250wpm)___ 198(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 59448 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 297(@200wpm)___ 238(@250wpm)___ 198(@300wpm)
I re-wrap her arm and hurry out of the room to my bathroom. I have a small medical kit under the sink. Bending down, I pull open the doors and rifle through the cleaning products and worn towels until the rusty kit meets my fingertips. I jerk it out from under the pile of shit and head back to Luna. Opening it, I find a butterfly strips. I wonder if that will be enough? Pushing Band-Aids, gauze, and scissors to the side, I notice the kit to be missing disinfectant. Passing my chair in the great room, I swipe a bottle of vodka from the wet bar before going into the living room and squatting down next to her.
Taking her hand in my own, I pull off the rag, the cut is fleshy looking, at least half an inch deep and bleeding dark red blood when pressure is not applied. I pour a little alcohol on it. She squirms, her toes curling in on themselves.
“You should have told me.” I say coldly. I could have gotten this out better, or called someone. She needs to learn to trust me.
“I didn’t know you cared.” Her words equally chilly.
My eyes snap to hers, both of us staring at each other but not saying a word. Shaking my head, I look back down at the wound.
Dabbing the leftover dampness with the hand towel, I place the butterfly strip onto her cut, closing it.
Sitting on my ass, I put the neck of the bottle of vodka to my lips and take a long pull, my mouth filling with alcohol before I swallow and lower it back down.
She leans up and takes it from my hand. Her emerald irises looking over the rim of the bottle as she takes a tiny sip, makes a face, and then takes one more sip before handing it back. I used to think I was petty and selfish for keeping women at a distance, not wanting to get involved or afraid I’d end up breaking their heart in the end. I haven’t had Luna in my care long, and I can definitely say without a doubt how much trouble they are. Here I was thinking I was the worst of the equation, if Luna is anything to go by… women are fucking crazy.
My eyes skim over her creamy, bare shoulders, her collarbone, and I have the urge to reach out and run a finger over her skin.
I look away, the last thing this poor girl needs is me eye-fucking her. “How bad does it hurt?” I ask, standing up.
Glancing down before I leave the room, she shrugs. Going into the kitchen, I see the knife in the sink something smashed to dust on my counter. I grab her hoodie, my eyes lingering on the scene before me. I used to think I was a monster for the things I did and even felt, but looking at the smashed GPS on my counter, a sudden chill runs down my spine… so what the fuck does that say?
Back Inside the living room, I toss the hoodie at her, she barely catches it.
“Dress. Now,” I demand, needing her to put something on so I can remain a gentleman. It’s taking every restraint I have not to make a move on her. I’ve never had a half-naked woman around and not had her underneath me. It’s a fault of mine, I suppose, always thinking about fucking.
She unravels it and slides her arms into each sleeve, I get a flash of her breasts and cute belly button before she pulls the sweatshirt over her head and covers her body up. She reaches behind her neck, freeing her hair from the collar.
“So is your lady friend okay?” she asks, coming to a stand.
Tilting my head to the side, I sense a tone of jealousy. Why else would she ask? The corner of my lip curls up, fighting a smile.
“Um, that lady friend was my mother, and yes. She is fine,” I inform her, sitting down on the couch. Her face is stoic, and she crosses her arms.
“O-oh. I didn’t. I mean…” She stumbles on her words. I ignore her flustered state and pick the pillow up to find the remote to the TV, turning it on.
“What about you, do you have family?” I dig.
She sits in the chair across from me, folding her legs Indian style. Her neck muscles flex as she stares at the screen.
“I don’t have a family. I don’t have anyone.” Her head slowly turns before pinning me with sallow eyes. I should have asked, I know she doesn’t have parents. I was informed of that information at the state hospital when we were kids. I was told she killed her parents, I open my mouth to ask her if it’s true but think better of it.