Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 69472 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 347(@200wpm)___ 278(@250wpm)___ 232(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69472 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 347(@200wpm)___ 278(@250wpm)___ 232(@300wpm)
“I’m umm—” I clear my throat. “I figured you’d be hungry. I’m figuring out something to eat. Do you have any preferences?”
“Maybe just something light. I get the feeling I’m not going to stay awake for long.”
“A sandwich?” I offer.
“Do you have cereal?”
I close the fridge door and open the cabinet. “I have Raisin Bran.”
“That sounds perfect.” We reach for the same cabinet where I keep the bowls, but she shies away a little, making me wonder what’s going on in her head.
Is she still traumatized from that man grabbing her and threatening her life with a gun pointed at her? Of course, she is. A nap and amazing sex doesn’t make that go away suddenly.
“Here,” I say, offering her the bowl and taking a step back before grabbing the milk out of the fridge.
My stomach is twisting, turning in knots, and I want to ask her how she’s really doing, but the way she’s carrying herself indicates she doesn’t want to talk about it.
Once she pours milk into her bowl and steps away, I move to make my own bowl even though I no longer feel like eating.
I want to claim her, to sweep her up in my arms and vow to protect her for eternity, but at the same time I don’t want to push her away either. I hate that I don’t know how to act or know what to say to her to make it all better. I can’t vow that she’s safe. I don’t know who else is involved with that man back at her office, but I know enough about criminals to know the head guy seldomly shows up to confront the low man on the totem pole himself in person. Doing so isn’t good business, especially when shit can go sideways like it did this morning.
I hang my head, arms locked on the counter when she disappears from the room, only taking small comfort when I hear the television in the living room come to life. At least she isn’t disappearing and insisting on being alone.
I quickly make my bowl of cereal, returning the box to the cabinet and the milk to the fridge before grabbing a spoon and following after her. She’s sitting at the far end of the couch, eyes trained on the television instead of looking at me when I enter the room.
God, if she regrets what we did, I don’t know that I’d be able to live with myself. I checked in with her when she touched my cock that first time to make sure she knew what she was doing. At the time, she seemed so sure, as if she wanted to continue down that path we were walking, but now she seems distant and unsure.
“I’ll make sure to get you to the police station in the morning since your car isn’t here. I bet they’ll have your purse there as well.”
She nods as she circles her spoon in her bowl. I haven’t seen her take a bite yet, and if I had to guess, I’d say she’s hungry but doesn’t feel like eating. I imagine her stomach is in knots.
“You’re going to be fine. You won’t be in trouble,” I assure her.
“I shot a man.”
“A man that was holding you at gunpoint,” I remind her. “It was self-defense.”
She looks at me for a brief moment before turning her eyes back to the television.
“What we did earlier—”
“I just want to eat and go back to bed.”
I nod, not willing to press the topic past what she’s comfortable with.
My cereal tastes like sawdust in my mouth as characters on the television laugh and joke about stupid shit. I can’t help but feel like that comedy has no place in our situation right now. She doesn’t change the channel and pick another show as the sitcom plays out. It’s like she’s here in body, but her mind is on a totally different plane of existence.
All too soon, she stands from the sofa. “I think I’m going to go to bed.”
I follow her to the kitchen, placing a hand on her back as she stands at the sink washing her cereal bowl. She looks up at me with a soft smile, but it doesn’t even get close to reaching her eyes. She doesn’t turn to me or lean against me as she shuts the water off, drying her hands on a dish towel.
“Goodnight,” she whispers, and I stand in the middle of my kitchen, listening to the guest bedroom door close with a soft snick.
After only a couple of hours in her bed, my room feels foreign to me. Her scent isn’t in here. The shape of her tiny body isn’t on my bed. I hate her being so close, yet completely unreachable.
I strip naked and climb in my own bed, punching at my pillow in anger as I turn to my side. Picking up women isn’t hard for me, but I have no clue when it comes to the one I can see myself keeping forever.