Total pages in book: 144
Estimated words: 140896 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 704(@200wpm)___ 564(@250wpm)___ 470(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 140896 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 704(@200wpm)___ 564(@250wpm)___ 470(@300wpm)
“Me, too, Mom. Me, too.”
“Excuse me?”
I disengage from my mom to look at the doctor, who just entered the waiting area. My steps are awkward and uncoordinated as I run toward him.
My heartbeat roars in my ears as I ask, “How’s Landon? Is he okay?”
“Perfectly fine, miss. Luckily, the bullet only hit some fat and tissue, and we were able to remove it successfully. The patient has been moved to his room and has regained consciousness if you wish to see him.”
A long breath heaves out of me. “Thank you! Thank you!”
Mom squeezes my shoulder. “I’ll be right here, honey.”
I nod and head to the recovery room. I pause for a second before I slip inside.
My heart beats in a frightening rhythm when I see him sitting in bed, half naked. Some blood forms a transparent sheen on his chest and a thick bandage is wrapped around his shoulder, hiding some of the snake tattoos underneath.
The longer I see him, the stronger the need to cry hits me.
He’s fiddling with the IV tube as if he wants to remove it. I jog to his side and place a hand on his. “What are you doing?”
He looks up at me, his face a bit drowsy and his eyes unfocused. “Mia, is that you?”
“Yeah. What are you trying to do?”
“Coming to see you.”
“But you’ve been shot!”
“Why should that stop me?” He strokes my hair behind my ear. “Fuck. I knew I’d love your voice since the first time I heard you whisper.”
I frown. “But I never spoke to you before.”
“You did while you were dreaming.”
“I did?”
“Yeah. I’ve loved it since and did everything in my power to make sure I’d hear it again.”
My gaze falls to his shoulder and pain explodes behind my rib cage. It hurts to see him in this state. Probably worse than if I were the one who’d been shot.
“But you got hurt because of me.”
“Worth it. Would do it again in a heartbeat.”
“Including killing Mrs. Pratt?”
“Especially that. She signed her death certificate when she hurt you.”
I cover his hand with mine. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For being there for me. I wouldn’t have been able to do this without you.”
“I will always be here.”
The butterflies from earlier tonight explode again and I taste their sweetness on my tongue. I grip his hand tighter and my voice shakes as I whisper, “Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why would you do that for me?”
“In case it’s not clear yet, I care about you, and when it’s someone I care about, which is decidedly few and far between, I protect them.”
“I still don’t understand. Are we in a relationship or are you just having your fun with me? Why would you care about me if…if you’re unable to feel love toward me?”
“Who says I’m unable to love you?”
“You couldn’t say it earlier.”
“Because I don’t like to label what I feel for you as love. This”—he points between us—“is much more potent and twisted than mere love. If loving someone means letting them go and wishing them happiness with someone else, then I don’t subscribe to that definition. But if love means protecting and wanting to take care of you till my dying day, then I love you more than anyone has ever loved another human being.”
My lips tremble. “You…do?”
“Depending on your definition of the word.” He takes my hands in his bigger ones, leans his forehead against mine, and closes his eyes.
I study his sharp jawline and the fluttering of his lashes over his skin. I’ve never seen someone so brutally beautiful as he is. And yet, at this moment, he feels like a different man.
No, not different. Changed.
I used to only see a monster in him, but I’ve found out he’s so much more than that.
No, he’ll probably never be normal, but I’m irrevocably in love with him, faults and all. He was born different and always will be, so why should he comply with social standards?
“Listen to me carefully, Mia. My whole life, I’ve been a desolate, empty entity of anarchy and violence. My black soul couldn’t survive without inflicting some form of chaos or producing a decadent burst of creativity, but even that has dwindled and started to drift from the center of my being. Without art, I’m nothing but a serial killer in the making. Ever since you came along, not only have you pushed my creativity to heights I never imagined would be possible, but you also filled up the emptiness with your stubborn submissiveness and stupid flowers with names. While I can’t possibly be your Prince Charming—and rightly so, since he’s an overrated idiot—and I can never be neurotypical, whether genetically or mentally, I promise you this, Mia. I’ll always see your perspective before mine, not because I have to, but because I want to. I’m in for the long haul.”