Total pages in book: 106
Estimated words: 102560 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 513(@200wpm)___ 410(@250wpm)___ 342(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102560 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 513(@200wpm)___ 410(@250wpm)___ 342(@300wpm)
There is something about her.
I find myself rearranging my whole schedule this week to spend more time with her.
This is a crazy thing I’m doing. There’s too much work to be done, but like a moth to a flame, I need to see this out. Need to understand this feeling, to know why this is happening.
Is it because of my past?
Is this some sick misplaced emotion because she looks like . . .
Stop. Enough.
I turn the corner of the path I’m walking.
The foliage is thick in these parts, and I have to push back branches as I walk. I like to take this trail past the empty property that will soon accommodate new independent housing complexes. Seeing the sun rise over the land has my brain unlocking with possibilities.
This is the route I take every day, and here, when I do, it’s like a jigsaw puzzle. The pieces come together the same way the number of a math equation does. And I see exactly what I have to do to the space.
Right now, however, all I see is her.
Figuratively, of course.
She’s not here at present. Still fast asleep and tucked inside the small home I placed her in when I first recognized I saw her differently.
The home Layla is in doesn’t have state-of-the-art surveillance systems inside it yet. Nor has the AI program my computer team created been installed.
How I wish it were, though. But I knew that if I could, I’d be drawn to watch her every move.
The thing that has my feet halting on this path and my legs locking is hearing my mom’s voice in my ear when she yelled at me years ago.
When I was a kid and she screamed words saying I wasn’t normal. That I would never be normal.
She told me I was wrong in the head.
Then he told me I was a sociopath.
He was the sociopath. And now, I did follow in his footsteps with my emotional detachments.
As a kid, I never loved. I never had connections. Never cared for anything or anyone.
As a teenager, the darkness inside me expanded. Like a dark mass taking over and spreading its poison throughout every crevice of my body. As a man, it’s still there, but I pretend it’s not. I pretend I’m normal.
I never thought anyone would get through.
Layla does.
I tilt my head up to the sky, looking at the clouds. It’s going to be a nice day, but if you came out here right now, you would think it would rain.
I know better.
That’s the case with everything but her.
Confusion washes over me.
There is no arguing that she is beautiful. It’s more than just her looks, though. I’ve been with many women, but with her, I was instantly captivated. It’s the way she holds herself. The way she speaks, but still, there’s more.
When she looked into my eyes, I felt it deep in my gut. Like I was punched.
God, I sound like a weak asshole.
This isn’t about love. Fuck. It isn’t even about sex. This is about the fact that when I look at her, I don’t imagine her not breathing.
I don’t wonder if I’ll ever let go of the hard-fought control. I don’t want to be the reason she’s no longer conscious.
Stop.
With a shake of my head, I lower my gaze back down to the trail I had taken. This trail runs closer to the main road. I’m trying to see what sort of access I should have from this vantage point. Should I close off the trail because it’s too close to the real world, or should I let it go, let it take its own path?
Knowing I don’t have that much time, I decide to head in the direction of the most recent addition to the compound.
Turning from the road, I head to where the brush is thicker.
This area hasn’t been trimmed back yet, so I grab a stick and push it as I force my way through the overgrown thicket. My lack of decision about what I’m doing with this side of the property makes way for overgrown bushes, grass, and hardy vines. As I get closer to the street, I hear a noise. It makes my footsteps stop.
I stand still, making sure I don’t make a sound, then listen.
At first, I don’t hear anything. My ears are not yet accustomed to the silence, but as the minutes stretch, I do.
It sounds like a crunch of leaves.
I hold my breath to make sure. When I do, I hear it again, and I’m one hundred percent sure that it’s the sound of leaves crushing underneath feet.
The question is, is it an animal?
I take a step, moving toward the sound, then I stop, quiet myself, and strain my ears again.
This time, I hear it, and I know it’s a person. The sound is heavier. The pace and the cadence of them are definitely human.