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)
I pad over to the kitchen and start making breakfast. I’m a crappy cook so it’s usually Abel’s job to take care of the food aspect. I think he likes it. It makes him feel that he’s providing for me.
Abel comes into the kitchen just as I’m pouring coffee into a white, chipped mug. He stands at the island, his eyes red-rimmed and sleep-deprived. We stare at each other across the space. I know he wants to come closer; I want to go closer to him too. The bed was so cold and lonely without my human heater.
I pour him a cup of coffee too and sit at the island. He does the same, taking the seat opposite to me.
“I’ve been so paranoid over the last few days that one day I decided to spy on you. I opened your computer and I hated every second of it. I thought I was breaking your trust. I thought I was letting everyone – my dad – get to me.” I scoff. “It was your computer, wasn’t it? Ethan lied for you. Did he tell you that?”
Abel nods, ashamed, regret dripping from every inch of his beautiful face. Of course, it was his computer. I don’t know why I believed Ethan.
“And that woman I saw. She was Blu, wasn’t she?”
I figured out some time last night that woman in throes of passion was the same one I met at the apartment, weeks ago. I remember telling both Ethan and Abel about her and Ethan got embarrassed, while Abel lectured him about letting strangers in while his fiancée was here. I didn’t think it was a big deal but I should’ve caught on. Isn’t it funny how the brain works? It protects. It blocks out things. It rejects the possibility that something must be wrong. That the person you love the most might also be the person who’s hurting you.
“Yes.”
I shake my head, chuckling. “God, you must think how stupid I am, right?”
“Pixie, I don’t…” He trails off before saying, “No, I don’t think that. If anything, I think I’ve been stupid. I’ve been fucking selfish for lying to you. I’ve hated it. I’ve hated every single second of it. There were times I didn’t wanna come home and look into your trusting face. There were times when I almost told you. I almost spilled my guts because it fucking hurt to look into your eyes, to see how bothered you were and it was because of me. And then one night you asked me if there was…” He sighs, tugs on his messy hair. “There’s no one else for me, Pixie. There can never be. Every day I fucking drown in you and I don’t wanna come up for air. How can there be someone else? I don’t want someone else.”
“So why didn’t you tell me? How can you lie to me when you love me so much?”
He seems to be gathering his thoughts and I let him do it, even though I want to scream at him, hit him, do something totally crazy right now. But I deserve an explanation, an honest explanation.
“My parents and I, we had a difficult relationship. When I found out about them, there were days I hated them for telling me. And then I hated them for not telling me before. It took me months, years to adjust to the fact that they were related and that no matter what, I loved them. And that was the root of the problem. The fact that I loved them. They did everything they could to give me a normal life. They loved me. They cared for me. It was hard to hate them but I wanted to.”
Abel takes a deep breath and plows his fingers through his hair, again. “And then, they died and I was sent to a town where people actually hated them. Called them names. Called me names. I…” He shakes his head, his eyes watering.
Why do I think today he’s going to lose the battle and his tears will shed? I’m dreading that moment.
“It messed with my head. I wanted to fight back. I wanted to… tear something apart. Every day was a struggle. Every day I wanted to leave that fucking town and go somewhere people didn’t know about them, about me. You were the only one who made things better. You were the only one who made me feel better about myself. You looked at me like I was some kind of a miracle. Like I mattered. But even that was so hard to come by. Even seeing you was so difficult. And it was all because of my parents, of where I came from. When they died, I’d promised myself that I wouldn’t hate them. That I’d make every effort to forgive them, not judge them. I wouldn’t taint my love with hatred, confusion. But I did. I broke my promise.