Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 73828 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 369(@200wpm)___ 295(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73828 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 369(@200wpm)___ 295(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
Or some asshole like Greg.
I think it’d be better for him to get hurt like that than by someone like me.
At least they wouldn’t put his life in danger.
I grab the purpling area on my belly and pinch.
I deserve that for what I did to him.
He’s too good for me, and I’ve always known that.
This is just a wake-up call. One I’ve needed.
I needed a good slap in the face to be reminded of who I am…what I am.
And why Mark deserves better.
I’m so fucking selfish, though, even the thought of losing him—the thought of not having him here right beside me—is painful.
When did my life become like this? When did all my thoughts start to be about some guy?
Since Mark.
He stirs, shaking me from my self-defeating thoughts.
“Fuck,” he whines.
“Are you okay?”
He blinks and turns to me, a smile spreading across his face.
“You worried about me?” he asks, and I can hear the playfulness in his voice, but I’m not feeling playful right now.
“How do you feel? Do you need me to get you another pill?”
“I don’t think it’s anything ibuprofen can’t handle.”
I stroke my thumb across the side of his face, where there aren’t any marks and run it through his hair.
“I’ll go get you some,” I say.
He grabs my arm.
“Stay,” he says.
I think he can sense my distance right now—this intensifying worry that’s reminding me I’m no good for him.
“I’m getting you the pills,” I explain, pulling from him.
I fetch him some painkillers and a glass of water from the kitchen.
“You want me to make you some breakfast?” I ask. “Eggs? Sausage?”
“I want you to calm down and get into this bed with me.”
“I’ll make you some eggs.”
I head into the kitchen and get started on breakfast.
He needs to eat.
I check my phone to see if Nanna’s responded to my text to see if she’s awake yet.
She has. Just says: Hope you had a good night. :)
As I mix three eggs in a cup, Mark steps out of the hallway to his bedroom, and I see him through the opening above the bar.
He hasn’t put on a shirt.
Looks groggy as fuck, but I know most of it is because his face is swollen. But even with his face banged up, he’s still fuckable as hell.
“I’m sorry,” I say.
“You don’t have anything to be sorry about.”
“The one fucking thing you said to me when we got into this is that you didn’t want me to hurt you, and now look what I fucking did.”
“You didn’t do this. Some asshole at a party did.”
“That guy wouldn’t have decked you if I wasn’t a fucking dealer.”
“Tim. I’m not a fucking kid, and it was just a fight.”
“That’s the reason you can’t parade around like that.”
“Parade around? You mean spend time with my boyfriend? You mean act like other fucking couples?”
“We’re not any other fucking couple, and you knew that getting into this. You knew that we couldn’t go around—”
“It was a weird coincidence.”
“Shit happens sometimes like that. People are drunk or high and weird.”
“I’m fine.”
“But what if you hadn’t been? What if something had happened to you? Do you have any idea what that would have fucking done to me if that guy had seriously fucked you up? The thought fucking makes me wanna fucking die.”
His expression shifts from anger to concern in an instant.
“Tim, it’s fine. Please don’t make this a bigger deal than it was.”
“It is a big deal.”
He must know what I’m thinking because I can see it all over his face. Bruised as it is, he can’t hide how worried he is from me.
I turn and get to work on his omelet, hoping it’ll give me time to think.
You fucking know what you have to do.
But I don’t want to. This time with him has been so fucking amazing. It’s given me fucking hope. Made me want to do better things with my life, but last night reminded me of reality. The sort of reality Jesse was telling me about.
Life isn’t a fairytale.
It’s hard, and people get hurt.
24
MARK
How do I make this better?
I gaze at him from the bar. I want to say something, but every time I try to talk about it, he shuts me down. Won’t even listen.
Last night was a crazy thing that neither of us could have seen coming.
And it wasn’t his fault. It was mine. I should have backed off. Not gotten into the middle of it. I just got so defensive when those guys were fussing at him.
He prepares me a plate with an omelet on it and sets it on the granite countertop in front of me. His jaw is tense, his eyes lost in thought.
“You should stick around,” I say, trying to change the subject. “Let’s eat and go back to bed for a bit.”
“I got to make runs to make up for last night.”