Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 63619 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 318(@200wpm)___ 254(@250wpm)___ 212(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 63619 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 318(@200wpm)___ 254(@250wpm)___ 212(@300wpm)
Silence passed between, so heavy and painful.
This was the last time I would ever see him.
It hurt so much that I thought my chest would crack inward. “If you’re still going to kill my family—”
“I’m not,” he said quickly. “I promise.”
I stared at him in disbelief.
“They’re safe—because of you.” He turned away from me and headed to the door, taking my words seriously. I wouldn’t change my mind about this, and there was nothing he could say to make me rethink this horrid relationship. He unlocked the door and turned back to me. “I want you to do me a favor.”
“Okay…”
“Move in to a better apartment. Because I won’t be outside to keep you safe anymore.”
I didn’t sleep at all that night.
All I could think about was Bones. The way he said those words.
I love you, Vanessa.
He sounded so sincere when he said them, looked me right in the eye as he spoke. He said he would drop the blood war for good, regardless of if I reciprocated his affection or not. The terror that kept me up at night had finally passed; my family was safe.
But that wasn’t enough to get me to stay.
We had no future—plain and simple.
All we had was hot sex and lustful affection.
I had to forget him and move on with my life. I had to meet a man who was better suited for me, someone my father would like and want spend time with. I wanted someone I could bring for the holidays. With Bones, it would only ostracize me from my family. My parents would never turn their backs on me, but it would put a thick wedge between us.
My father would be so angry, angrier than I’d ever seen him. He wouldn’t allow his only daughter to love the son of the man who raped his wife.
Just not possible.
We had worse odds than Romeo and Juliet.
I repeated this to myself over and over again, trying to console myself that I’d made the right decision.
The only decision, really.
But fuck, everything hurt.
My chest hurt. My eyes were puffy. Every breath I took hurt more than the previous one. My hands felt shaky. My skin was ice-cold and clammy. I felt like I’d lost a part of me when I told him to leave and not come back. He put up a fight most of the time, but once he realized I wouldn’t change my mind, he finally left.
And then it was over.
Before I knew it, it was morning. Sun filtered through the window, and it was a nice day. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky, so the light would be perfect for my artwork. But I didn’t care about making a new piece.
The painting I made for him, the one of myself on his bed, was still in my bedroom.
He forgot to take it with him.
I wondered if he would be back for it.
I sat up in bed and ran my fingers through my hair, trying to chase away the headache that pounded behind my eyes. I should pop a few painkillers, but I lacked the motivation.
My phone started to ring.
I hoped it was him. I wanted to see his name on the screen. But I also didn’t want it to be him either.
It was my mom.
I didn’t want to talk to her right now, but I also needed to talk to her. There was something about my mother that I always found comforting. She was compassionate and understanding, possessing a soft side she didn’t show to just anyone. She’d always been my mother when I was growing up, but once I became an adult, she became my friend.
My best friend.
I answered. “Hey, Mama…”
“Hey, sweetheart,” she said with enthusiasm. “You’ll never believe it. After the weather cleared up, we got a whole new horde of people at the winery. And we sold all your paintings! All of them. They sold like hot cakes.”
It was a dream come true, but I couldn’t bring myself to care. My paintings didn’t seem important anymore, not in comparison to the pain inside my heart. I felt like someone stabbed me. No, I felt like someone shot me, and I was still in a state of shock. “That’s great…”
Mom paused for a moment, digesting my tone. The sound of her moving in the background burst through the phone, like she was stepping into a different room so she could speak to me in private. “Sweetheart, what’s wrong?”
“It’s nothing… I just have a headache.”
“Vanessa,” she pressed. “Talk to me. Is it that man you’re seeing?”
How did she know that? She always knew everything. I couldn’t keep my tears back, and they immediately poured out. “Yes…” I cried into the phone, doing my best to keep everything back, but it was pointless. I sobbed to my mother, feeling like a teenager who just got her heart broken.