Total pages in book: 31
Estimated words: 28341 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 142(@200wpm)___ 113(@250wpm)___ 94(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 28341 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 142(@200wpm)___ 113(@250wpm)___ 94(@300wpm)
And of course, that sent my mother into a tirade. It would have been more surprising if it hadn’t, honestly. I was tired of the argument before it even started. And yet, I allowed myself to, yet again, get swept up in the insanity. We argued about the validity of “being married to a career”, about how far I’ve fallen from the traditional values that she engrained in us and whose fault that was. It escalated to me asking why she cared about being involved in Caroline’s wedding when she hadn’t done anything but show up to Adaline’s and Macey’s.
“I may not have always been as involved as I should have been, but I'm trying now. I won’t be villainized for it!” she snapped at me. “It’s my last daughter to be married. I want to enjoy it.”
“You’re so insulting,” I hissed right back before shaking my head. “But if that’s how you feel, then fine! Be a part of it! But don’t turn this into about me at every turn. Either be a part of Caroline’s big day, or leave.”
My chest was heaving at that point, my eyes wild. Never before had I gotten in a fist fight, let alone with my own mother, but I was close then. A voice in the back of my mind taunted her further, begging her to say something else or to even take a swing at me so I had enough reason to slap her. And yet, it had been Caroline’s voice that sounded next. She stepped between us, staring me down with hurt clear in her blue eyes. “It isn’t your wedding. You don’t get to say who is or isn’t invited,” she said in an almost eerily calm voice. She then looked between our mother and me. “If the two of you can’t get along, then neither of you are welcome at the wedding.”
Caroline ran off after that, and mom followed after her. I didn’t bother. I was at, what I thought at the time, my limit. Stopping by my apartment only long enough to change, I went for a run. I usually ran in the mornings, but I need to do something to blow off steam. Drinking wouldn’t be enough, neither would anything else I could think of. I needed to expel the pent of rage and aggression in my body in a physical way.
And then Emanuel called.
My lip curls just at the thought. How fucking dare he call me! And to accuse me of things I didn’t even do? I don’t know what he was getting at by doing so, I don’t know if it was just a way to talk to me or something, but it’s pushed me past my limit for one day.
I don’t even feel attached to my legs with how fast I'm moving. I’ve bypassed runner’s high and went straight into disassociation or something. My body isn’t used to being pushed this much. My morning runs are brisk and short, just enough to get my blood pumping and feel like I’m taking a little care of myself. I’ve been running for over an hour, only stopping long enough to answer Emanuel’s stupid messages and call. Even though I don’t want to, as I feel a lead weight of anger still sitting in the center of my chest, I know I’ll have to stop soon. At least long enough to catch my breath and get some water. Mentally planning out a map to a store I like for a water bottle, I turn the corner.
The man just a few yards away is a face I recognize instantly. Forcing myself to slow down enough to stop, I cross my arms and glare at him as I try and catch my breath. “Are following me now or something?” I ask through my panted breathing.
He cocks a brow at me. “I live here. If anyone is following the other, it’s you.”
“As if,” I huff.
“Whatever,” he grumbles and starts to walk again, aiming to walk around me.
“Jackass,” I call after him.
I watch as he pauses midstride. Emanuel pivots to look at me then, his chocolate eyes narrowed. “Is that the only insult you know? Or do you think I’ve forgotten that’s what you think I am?”
“It’s what I know you are,” I retort. “Who fucks someone, tells them let’s see where things go,” I use air quotations around the words, “Fucks them again, tells them it means nothing, and then later calls them out for some made up transgression? A jackass.”
“It wasn’t made up,” he snaps. “There’s been a misunderstanding at the shop, and I’m sorry for that—” His words cut off, but his mouth remains open. For a split second, I think he’s going to apologize for the way he’s treated me. Emanuel looks off, then, shaking his head. “Maybe it’s best if we forget about one another.”