Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 87908 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 440(@200wpm)___ 352(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87908 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 440(@200wpm)___ 352(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
No way, two and a half years was more than enough I want in there like yesterday. And after seeing her again that need was ten times worse. Imagining her under me was one thing when there were miles separating us, now with her in my vision, her scent in my nose, she’d be lucky to make it the next two days.
I’d spent the most restful night of my life last night and was racking my brain to figure out how to make that shit a repeat performance tonight when we reached home. She didn’t say what it was that had sent her running to my arms and I didn’t push.
I’d just studied her over breakfast and since she looked like my bright eyed little girl I let it slide. I was hoping to leave all that darkness behind, a fresh start with none of the ugliness of her past or mine.
“You ready babygirl?” She didn’t seem to mind her new nickname, in fact each time I called her by my secret name for her she blushed prettily and smiled. She nodded her head and I got on the bike.
Once again her arms went around me and she held on innocently as we rode out, headed for my home, her home now. Maybe one day I’ll tell her that I built it with her in mind. Thinking of that reminded me of all that I’d done with her in mind. Everything was ‘would she like this?’ or ‘would this be good for her?”
It was easy to look back on my life now and see how much she’d influenced every decision I’d ever made. Some of them probably saved my life come to think of it. Before her I wouldn’t have thought twice about running headfirst into trouble, I never met a bar fight I didn’t like. I spent my life scrapping, fighting for everything that meant anything to me.
The bitch that had birthed me had dumped me on her way to somewhere better a few short hours after I came into the world. I never stood a chance. Found in the worse part of town, high as a fucking kite even though I didn’t know a pipe from a tit, they didn’t give me much hope of surviving. Did I forget to mention it was thirty below when the bitch wrapped me in newspaper and left me for dead?
After I beat the odds life wasn’t through with my ass. I was then passed around from every degenerate family within the city limits. Thank fuck I escaped the horrors of sexual molestation, but everything else was on the table. My life was a smorgasbord of hellacious bullshit.
I was used as a mule to run drugs to and from school, was taught to steal with the best of them by the time I was six or seven, and by the time I was fourteen before I lit the fuck out, I was servicing my fifth foster mom and her pals. I didn’t see that shit as abuse because those bitches taught me all I needed to know and then some.
The one thing I learned throughout was that there was only one way out of the hood. I was a smart little fuck but I had to use my head. A scholarship might be nice but contrary to the feel good bullshit they show on T.V. no one was giving someone like me a full ride, not unless there was some fuck in it for them.
So when I met old man Steve at sixteen and his pal set me up with the boy’s home I finally started feeling human. At eighteen is when they had some kind of job fair at the high school and they sent recruiters from the army. I listened to every fuck they had to say that day and found my calling.
Now the reason I knew so much about my beginnings was on account of this old dude from the neighborhood. Even though I’d ran away I never went too far, just to show you how hard they look for kids like me.
Anyway this guy I remembered from when I was much younger. He was always hanging around outside in his yard and whenever he’d see me he would stop to chat.
He had no idea who my real incubator was, but he knew everything else. Old Silas was an old army dog; he was the closest thing to a human being I knew back then before Steve, and I figured if the army produced them I could maybe stand a chance.
Everyone was of the general opinion that the incubator had been passing through and there was no way to find her. By the third foster home when I was nursing broken ribs compliments of the last asshole who was just using me for a paycheck from the government, I no longer gave a fuck.