Total pages in book: 121
Estimated words: 115344 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 577(@200wpm)___ 461(@250wpm)___ 384(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115344 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 577(@200wpm)___ 461(@250wpm)___ 384(@300wpm)
“He didn’t force me,” I sobbed. “He didn’t do anything. Nothing happened.”
But most of all, I remember Abel’s face. His anger. It was probably scarier than anything else inside that room.
“Leave her alone,” he thundered. “Don’t you fucking touch her. Don’t you fucking touch my Pixie. She’s mine.”
His shouts were more of a shock to them than my naked body.
They don’t know, you see. They don’t understand my Abel. They don’t understand that when a boy with enough heat to burn the sun falls in love with a girl, he torches the whole world. They don’t get his intensity, his passion.
He didn’t stop with words, he descended on them, especially on my mom, his eyes ablaze, his body massive and heaving. He would’ve killed her, I know it. He would’ve killed her if not for that sound.
The sound that even now doesn’t let me sleep: the shatter of his camera.
Things ground to a halt when my dad found it. I’d never seen him this mad. I’d never seen my dad’s eyes red and filled with hatred. He threw the camera at the wall, smashing it into a million pieces.
Abel simply stood there, watching his prized possession break like our hearts were breaking. Then my dad turned to me. He looked at me like I was really a whore. A bad seed. A daughter who really ruined everything.
“Did he… Did you let him take your picture like this?” my dad asked, his eyes brimming with angry, accusing tears.
“Dad, it’s not like that. I-I…We love each other. It’s not… bad or anything.” I begged him. “I love him, Dad. Please. Don’t be mad.”
It took Dad a few seconds to adjust to my confession. In those few seconds, I prayed to God. I asked for my dad’s understanding. I prayed for him to look beyond his anger and understand. Abel and I had done nothing wrong.
Amidst my mom’s screams and accusations, my dad approached the love of my life and took a swing at him. My dad, the one person I counted on to listen to me, hear my side of things, tore apart the dreams I’d woven over the years. I knew then, that he’d never get it. He’d never understand. No one will, probably. But then, I shouldn’t have been surprised, right? My dad hardly ever came to my rescue.
Abel didn’t move. He took it. With his eyes on me, he took the beating, never retaliated. I could see him making fists at his sides, veins standing stark and alert, but he didn’t do anything.
I begged my dad to stop.
“I love him, Dad. Please. Let him go. He didn’t do anything. Nothing happened between us.”
I begged and begged, but nothing. A few minutes later, they dragged me out of Abel’s apartment naked, with only a blanket wrapped around my body. Mom muttered something about me being a slut and I deserved to be paraded around like one. This will teach you to whore yourself out in the name of love.
Abel was breathing loudly, a drop of blood almost snaking down to his lashes. “Pixie! Don’t take her away. Leave her alone. I swear to God, I’ll fucking kill everyone. Don’t hurt her.”
His eyes held a manic light when my gaze met his for a brief moment. I was a mess of my former self, the one that arrived, panting and desperate to see him. I’m sorry, I mouthed as he disappeared from my view.
Outside, people flooded the street, talking, watching, some giving me glares, others giving me sympathetic stares.
Her mother probably didn’t teach her anything.
She’s the last person we expected to turn up pregnant but that’s what’s going to happen.
Maybe Abel forced her? I can’t imagine quiet, bookish Evie doing this.
God, what a slut.
Quiet ones are the worst ones, you know. All that pent-up sexual aggression.
I heard my mom saying that he forced me, took my photo naked, tricked me. “But what else did you expect from an Adams? I just didn’t expect this from my daughter.”
“He didn’t force me. I love him. We’re in love,” I screamed, to everyone and no one in particular.
I probably looked like a crazy girl. Loose hair, no clothes, messed-up face, running eyes and nose, standing in the middle of the street, screaming about her love. But I didn’t care. I wanted everyone to know.
“I love Abel. I love him. I’ve loved him for years. He didn’t force me. Nothing happened between us.”
My shouts echoed in the night, rose louder than any thunder, but no one listened. They still blamed Abel. They still talked about sending me away to find God and throwing Abel in jail for his crimes. At the mention of jail, I tried to run. I tried to get away from the mob and go to him, warn him or something. But someone grabbed me from behind, stepping onto my sheet, almost ripping it away from my body. I heard snickers. Their eyes looking at me with judgement and hatred, my mom hissing insults in my ear