Total pages in book: 164
Estimated words: 152853 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 764(@200wpm)___ 611(@250wpm)___ 510(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 152853 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 764(@200wpm)___ 611(@250wpm)___ 510(@300wpm)
“You’re wasting time.”
“You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”
“And I think everything’s about me?” He barks out a laugh, shaking his head as he turns to face me again. “It’s all projection with you. That’s all. You accuse me, but you’re the one who can’t think beyond herself for more than half a minute before she starts wondering what’s in it for her.”
“That’s not true.” Is it? No, it’s not. He’s trying to hurt me and make me hate him. That has to be it. It must be. How could he hold me so tenderly and make love to me, then turn around and act this way if it isn’t all a front?
“Whatever you want to believe. I really don’t care. I’m exhausted. You’ve exhausted me.” He turns away again to finish with his stupid fucking coffee, like that matters. As if it’s more important than how my world is crumbling around me while all I can do is watch it fall apart.
“You’re a coward. You won’t even look me in the eye.”
“Would it make you feel better if I did?” He slams his palms on the counter before turning and giving me a look that just about freezes my blood. I can imagine him looking that way before he murdered Kristoff. Cold, hateful, dangerous. “Satisfied?”
“Honestly, no.”
“That is such a surprise. You’re so easily pleased most of the time.” He chuckles bitterly, shaking his head.
“You think I don’t know what this is about. But I do.”
“Time is ticking, princess.”
Do not cry. Do not. I’m not sure how much longer I’ll be able to keep a hold on myself. It’s not just the agony of being rejected. It’s the way I want to break him into itty bitty pieces for being so dismissive of my feelings. I want to make him hurt for that. I want to make him bleed.
Since I can’t, I go for the next best thing.
“You’re running away again. Things got too hard, and you decided to be a pussy. You can’t face your next-door neighbor, for God’s sake. You can’t have a conversation with Becky without her leaving in tears. You won’t try to make things right. You can’t face your old friends. You’d rather turn your back on everybody who ever gave a shit about you, because you’re too afraid to do anything else. Tell me I’m wrong. Go ahead. Lie to my face.”
His jaw ticks, but there’s still nothing but blankness behind his baby blues. “You feel better now that you got that off your chest? You know, it didn’t have to be this way. We could’ve had an adult conversation about this if you hadn’t thrown a tantrum. All you’re doing is reminding me of what I couldn’t stand about you in the first place. You have to have your way. Everything has to be exactly the way you want it. Forget everything and everybody else. What do they matter?”
“It’s all just a big excuse, Romero, and we both know it.”
He looks away, staring out the window over the sink. “Don’t tell me what I know, little girl. You don’t have the first clue.”
“What, are you planning on burying yourself here? Hiding out from the whole world? That’s what you would be doing, too, isn’t it? Living like a hermit. Watching the rest of the world moving while you’re too stuck and too stubborn to actually join in. Or too afraid.”
The muscles in his cheek twitch and his nostrils flare, but he won’t say a word. “Tell me I’m wrong. Tell me you aren’t doing this to run away from me, more than anything. You would rather stay here and be miserable and surrounded by awful memories than take a chance at living a life. Don’t you know you’re better than that? You’re worth more than this.”
Cold, uncertain silence fills the room. I don’t know what else to say. I could beg, but what good would that do even if I was willing to degrade myself? I could remind him of how happy I thought we were lately. How well we fit together and fill in the other’s empty places. How I have never felt more myself than when I was here with him.
All he would do is find a way to make fun of me. To turn it into a joke. I can’t believe he would mean it – that’s the worst part of this. He’s lying; I know he is. There’s no way I made up everything I felt coming from him. It was more than lust or chemistry or even loneliness. I’ve been through all of those.
This was different. I know it in my bones.
“Are you finished?”
Is there a wounded puppy in the house? No, that whimper came from me before I could stop it. “Fine, then,” I whisper as I watch everything I thought was mine dissolve like wisps of smoke in a stiff breeze. I step up until we’re toe-to-toe, forcing myself to look him in the eye one more time, no matter how my heart screams in agony. “That’s fine. I want you to know you won’t see me again. I won’t put myself through it. I don’t know where I’m going. I only know I won’t risk seeing your face.”