Total pages in book: 161
Estimated words: 149338 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 747(@200wpm)___ 597(@250wpm)___ 498(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 149338 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 747(@200wpm)___ 597(@250wpm)___ 498(@300wpm)
I stirred, hearing a familiar, faint voice in my sleep.
“You’re so fucking beautiful.” Serene, green, tantalizing eyes staring back at me in my dream. He was so close. So real.
“Hmmm…” I rolled over to the other side of my bed. “I’m so sorry,” I found myself saying in my sleep.
“I got what I deserved, cariño. You did what I wanted you to do all along.”
“I’m so alone…” I hazily spoke.
“No you’re not. You have me… open your eyes, Lexi.”
“You’re not real… I killed you. Please…”
“Open your eyes, baby. I’m here.”
I steadied my breathing, my mind willing me to open my eyes, to wake-up. Feeling with every ounce of my being that when I did.
I would actually find him sitting there.
Watching over me.
My dark angel.
Her lips were swollen, her face puffy, her eyes bloodshot red from spending countless minutes, hours, days, crying. Mourning the loss of a man who didn’t deserve her tears.
Me.
She still took my goddamn breath away. I’d been sitting here in the armchair by her bed for hours, watching her sleep. Even in her dreams she couldn’t run from me. Whimpering my name, apologizing for a crime she didn’t commit. As much as I didn’t want to wake her, I couldn’t bear to see her feeling any more turmoil, any more pain, especially on my behalf. Again. Her eyes widened seeing me for the first time.
Breathing.
Alive.
She flew up on the bed, away from me. The square picture she was holding in her sleep, floated to the floor between the bed and nightstand. Her mouth opened wide, gasping for air, her hand over her heart. Looking at me like she was staring at a fucking ghost.
“What the fuck, Martinez!?” she screamed, her back slamming against the headboard. Hitting it with a thud. She winced.
“Shhh… Stop screaming.” I reached for her, but she backed further away from me. Putting my hands out in front of me in a surrendering gesture, I sat back on the chair. “You know I’m all for you screaming my name, but now is not the time or the place. Your shitty fucking apartment has some thin ass fucking walls.”
“Your funeral was today… I saw it… on the TV… Briggs was crying… Austin… holding her… I shot you… blood… lots of it… everywhere… you… died… I… killed… you…” she stuttered, not moving an inch from her place against the headboard.
“You saw what I wanted you to see.”
“What the fuck kind of an answer is that?!” she shouted. I could tell she wanted to flip the fuck out, but was trying to remain untroubled.
“The only one I have. Now stop fucking screaming and sit your ass back down on the bed. As much as I love staring at your tits. We need to talk.”
She swallowed hard, slowly sliding down the headboard. Pulling her legs to her chest, hugging them close to her body in a comforting gesture. Covering her breasts that were on full display through her tight, white shirt. She cocked her head to the side, narrowing her eyes at me. Trying to figure out if I was really sitting in front of her, or if I was another illusion in her mind. She looked from me to the floor, silently telling me she was going to get off the bed. Slowly, she placed one foot on the ground then the next. Gradually stepping toward me, she reached out once she was close enough, wanting to make sure I was real. She gently touched my shoulder, her eyes wide and brazen, moving her hand along to my chest.
“But I shot you,” she coaxed.
As much as I wanted to grab her hand, I didn’t want to frighten her. I needed to move at her speed. “Here,” I stated, placing my hand over the wound. “You barely missed my heart.”
She recoiled away from me, trying to remain calm, collecting her thoughts. “How is this possible? How are you here? What is going on?”
“Let me—”
“No more lying, Alejandro.”
I nodded for her to sit down. She did, resuming her position against the headboard.
I leaned forward, setting my elbows on my knees, placing my hands out in front of me in a prayer gesture. Looking deep into her eyes, I murmured, “I’m sorry, Lexi. I’m so fucking sorry.”
She frowned, taking in the sincerity of my voice. I’d never apologized to her for anything I put her through in the years we were together and apart. Not once telling her I was sorry for ripping out her heart, time and time again. I regretted it every day of my fucked-up existence. I wanted to tell her. I just wasn’t made that way. She knew how hard it was for me to show weakness. To anyone. Especially her. She had the power to bring me to my knees, and she never even realized it. There was still so much she needed to know. So much I needed to explain with little time to do it.