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)
There's got to be a way to get her through this. I have to find it, whatever it is, because she cannot spend the rest of her life breaking down in alleyways. After all, a man grabbed her. “I'm proud of what you did,” I murmur, still watching the cars passing mere feet from where we are hidden in the darkness.
Slowly, she quiets down, but she remains in that protective hunch with her face covered. “You were fierce,” I offer. “He grabbed you, and you didn't hold back. That was a great punch.”
She sniffles. “I'm sure he didn't feel it.”
“His pride did, and sometimes that stings a hell of a lot worse.”
“I couldn't handle it.”
“This time. But you tried. That's worth something.” I feel so fucking stupid, saying whatever comes to my head, what I would want to hear if I were in her shoes.
We stay like this for a while, until she steadies herself with a deep, shuddering breath and swipes her hands over her face. All the trouble she went to with her makeup, only to end up looking like a raccoon. “Let's go home.”
“Okay. Here.” I pull off my leather jacket and drape it over her shoulders, then walk with an arm around her shoulders until we reach the garage at the end of the block where I left the SUV. She doesn't say a word, and I won't force her to talk. What else is there to say?
Still, there's something unspoken hanging between us throughout the ride back to the house while she rests her head against the seat with her face turned away from me. I can’t help wondering what's going through her head, just like I can't help wishing I was who she needs me to be now. She needs a friend, and I don't qualify.
I can't let it go, though. Something inside me won't allow her to go to bed without at least offering my support. I know it will drive me crazy throughout a long, sleepless night if I don't try. Once we’re inside, she goes straight for the stairs but pauses when I speak. “We can talk tomorrow about what happened over there. Get some sleep, and you'll feel better about it in the morning.”
“Is that your professional opinion?” she whispers, not bothering to look my way. Instead, she stares up into the dark hallway, one hand around the banister. “Don't worry about it. I'm used to dealing with shit alone. I don't need your pity, and I don't want your remorse.”
I'm too stunned to respond, not that she gives me any time before she rolls her shoulders back and sends my jacket falling to the floor. She pays it no mind, marching up the stairs. The closing of the bedroom door punctuates her cold rage.
And only ignites mine.
CHAPTER 12
TATUM
“Get back here. Don’t you walk away from me!”
My pounding heart startles me out of sleep and thrusts me into reality. Sunlight floods the room–this isn’t the first time I’ve woken up this morning. I did the whole wake-up routine… up to a point. Once I was dressed and the bed was made, it occurred to me I’d have to face Romero next. Instead of dredging up the humiliation, I chose to hide by flopping back on the bed and brooding. I guess I fell asleep.
But I’m safe here. I know that. There’s no Kristoff. He’s not going to hurt me anymore.
It's my dream I'm not safe from.
And the rest of the world. My heart aches when I remember what happened only hours ago, the pain and humiliation and disappointment fresh. Ready to drown me in bitterness.
I don't know what I expected last night; I honestly don't. I hoped things would be different. I hoped I could get through it without losing my shit. And I might have, I really might have gotten through it and woken up this morning feeling good about myself and my future. I might’ve had hope. I might’ve been able to visualize a life where I don’t have to brace in fear whenever somebody raises their voice.
Only I forgot one thing: you go to a club and dance alone, and you might as well be waving a red flag in front of a horny, drunken bull. I’m surprised it took that long for someone to approach me, and not because I have a high opinion of myself. I’m a woman. That’s all it takes.
I lift my left arm and push back my sleeve to examine for any bruises in the cold light of morning. I'm not surprised to find my skin clear—the guy, whoever he was, didn't grab me that hard. Compared to how Kristoff used to grab me and yank me around like a rag doll, it was hardly anything. But it didn't have to be. All he had to do was put a hand on me after I told him I didn't want a drink, and something inside me snapped.