Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 64793 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 324(@200wpm)___ 259(@250wpm)___ 216(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 64793 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 324(@200wpm)___ 259(@250wpm)___ 216(@300wpm)
I manage to move away from him.
How, I don’t know.
I got both jobs.
Both!
Holy shit.
One is during the day at a bookstore. Which means I can keep my clients and work with them when the shop isn’t busy. The other is serving drinks at night at a small bar. It works, and so far, I’m enjoying them both. Even if I am tired every day, I still get one day off a week. And I love those days. I do fuck all but lie around in my apartment doing nothing but watching that gigantic television and eating whatever I want.
I love it.
I went through the box last week—I kept a few things of Dillan’s. I loved him. I’m not going to lie. I tried hard to save our marriage, where he was destined or maybe even determined to destroy it. I’ve cried a lot over the last month purely because of him. Wondering if I could have done something different, or perhaps I could have been different for him. But I think, no matter what, that’s how we were destined. We were not fated to be together, and try as I might, he was never going to change his ways.
Last week, I got the official invite to Joey’s birthday. It stares at me on the fridge every day when I get home from work.
I haven’t seen either of them for a month.
I needed that time.
Separation has been good for me to see and put things into perspective.
Keir came in and tipped my life upside down.
I’m not going to lie and say all of it was bad, because not all of it was. I enjoyed him, but I also hated him most of the time.
Ellie has been coming around more than I want her too. She has a boyfriend but still wears my engagement ring. I don’t even ask anymore because, quite frankly, I don’t give two shits about her or anything to do with what she’s doing. But I try to be nice because it’s not in my nature to be any other way with her. It’s not her fault Dillan was a complete asshole.
“Why are you dressed up?” I ask Ellie as she walks to my fridge. She looks great, not that she doesn’t usually.
How weird is it that the person I speak to the most is the person who took my husband? This shit can only happen to me.
“We’re going out tonight, remember?”
“No, we are not.” I turn away from her and switch on the television I am addicted to.
“We are. For Joey’s birthday. He asked me if you were coming, and I said yes. Don’t upset the birthday boy.”
“They shot Dillan. Killed him right in front of us. And you want to go? Why?” I raise a brow at her. “You want to go hang with the mafia?” I look back at the television and laugh at the Friend’s scene when they are trying to carry the sofa up the stairs and Ross is screaming, “pivot, pivot.” That scene gets me every single time.
“Well, when you put it like that, it doesn’t sound that great, I agree. But you know they aren’t that bad. And we know Dillan did them dirty. Maybe he got what he deserved.”
“A bullet in the damn head? Really?”
“The police never arrested them,” she says.
“That’s because half the police force is smart enough not to fuck with the mafia, and the other half are in their pockets,” I state. “Yet here you are requesting we go see them.”
“It’s just a party. Joey did you good. Helped you move. You should come wish him a happy birthday.”
“How about, no.”
She sighs and shakes her head, then pulls out a bottle of champagne from my fridge.
“Can I take this then?”
I wave my hand, indicating she can do what she wants.
“Thanks, babycakes. I’ll send my best wishes for you and say you’re sick.” Her heels click-clack as she walks to the door. “Toodles.”
Standing once she leaves, I lock the door before proceeding to fall into my bed and sleep.
There’s banging.
Something is banging.
Loud and obnoxiously.
Moaning, I get out of bed. Checking my phone, it’s two in the morning. Who the fuck is banging on my door this late, or is it early? The banging doesn’t stop even when I manage to reach the door.
“Who is it?”
“Where were you?” Keir’s voice is rough, angry, so I don’t open the door.
“Keir?” I ask, slightly confused, but know without a doubt that’s his voice I am just confused as to why he’s here, so I ask, “It’s two in the morning. Why are you here?”
“Open the door.”
“No. Go home. I need sleep.” Tiredness is something I’ve become best friends with. I guess that’s what happens when you work multiple jobs and have no life outside of that. You just work and repeat, work and repeat. I start to shuffle away because lifting my feet is too damn difficult right now and head back to bed, but he bangs on my door again.