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)
Besides, I can barely see through the tears streaming down my face. The only time I stop is to run a fist under my eyes now and then, but otherwise, the tears drip from my chin and soak into my clothes. I wish I could set it on fire instead. I don’t want any reminders of this massive mistake.
Because stupid me thought I loved him. “Asshole,” I hiss in disgust, and it’s not him I’m thinking about. It’s me. The stupid, stupid asshole who insists on breaking her own heart. Romero didn’t do this to me. I did.
And now, I have the rest of my life to regret it.
It doesn’t take more than ten minutes to get everything ready. They’re still talking when I reach the top of the stairs. “I’m going to shower — everything is packed up.”
“I’ll take the bags to the car,” Romero offers while I head for the shower. The sound of his voice does strange things to me. It makes my heart ache and my pulse race. I want blood. I want him dead for rejecting me. For letting me think he cared. He used me. That’s all there is to it. He used me, and now he’s done, and we both know better than to ever let my father know.
A sick smile spreads over my face when I imagine what would happen if I told Dad everything. If I told him his precious, wannabe son took advantage of me. I was vulnerable, wasn’t I? And he used that. Something close to satisfaction warms me inside while I let it play out in my head. He would learn what happens to anybody stupid enough to hurt me.
The idea dies almost as soon as it's born. I can’t do it. I know I can’t. The old Tatum might have done what I imagine as I wash my hair, what I would have done to get back at him even a year ago. Dad would make him suffer for it.
I can’t be that girl anymore. I have to grow up sometime. So, as much as it hurts, and as much as I hate it, I have to let it go. I don’t know how, but there’s no choice but to figure it out. Right now, it’s all about scrubbing him off my body. Erasing every trace of his touch from my skin.
I wish it was as easy to wash a soul.
The bags are downstairs by the time I’m out of the shower and dressed in the sweater and leggings I left lying out on the bed. I want so much to take a second and look around the room one last time, but that’s dumb. It’s not like I have happy memories, anyway – because none of it was real. What’s the point of going over it?
The pain in my chest is almost enough to stop me, but I force myself through heading downstairs again. Dad and Romero sit on the sofa, and it’s pretty apparent there’s tension. “What’s wrong?” I venture as I twist my wet hair into a bun and clip it in place with trembling hands. He wouldn’t be stupid enough to confess, would he?
Dad shakes his head. “It looks like you’re not the only one who had a surprise waiting for them.”
“I told your father I’m not coming with you. I’m going to stay here.”
“I don’t see why,” Dad snaps. “I don’t like the idea of you being here alone.”
“Oh, come on,” I say with a shrug. “He’s a big boy. He can handle being alone.” Amazing how easy it is to slide back into the old Tatum. As easy as sliding into my jacket before going outside.
“There’s a lot more to the story than you know.” Dad is scowling when he looks at me, especially since he actually believes we’d spend all these weeks together and that I would never learn the truth. “You should wait in the car.”
“Gladly.” The coward won’t look up from the hands folded in his lap. I have to bite the inside of my cheek hard enough to taste blood in my mouth. Otherwise, I might do something unforgivable, like beg him to look at me one more time. I might have had no other choice except to tell him in detail what he did to me. How he made me feel safe and whole and wanted again – and how he ruined it all. He ruined everything.
He ruined me. No matter how tempting it is to punish myself, I'm not alone in this. He played a part, knowing what I’ve been through and turning his back on me after he got what he wanted. The bastard.
“Bye, I guess.” I have to get out of here. I can’t breathe, and there’s no way I’m going to be able to keep from crying much longer. As it is, the front door goes blurry before I’m outside on the porch. I didn’t even get to say goodbye to Mrs. Cooper, did I? One more thing he took from me. And for a second, I consider going over and saying goodbye—then stop myself. Dad is the man she saw the night Romero left. She might recognize him. He wouldn’t like that.