Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 129460 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 647(@200wpm)___ 518(@250wpm)___ 432(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 129460 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 647(@200wpm)___ 518(@250wpm)___ 432(@300wpm)
I shake my head with so much determination I make myself dizzy. “You were ten, Tiv. Ten.”
“That’s not an excuse.”
She’s right. It isn’t. But it is what I run with every time I tell myself I didn’t choose to be touched by him. Remembering how young I was is the only way I can look at myself in the mirror and somewhat like what I see, and that’s on a good day.
You don’t want to know about the bad days.
I yank a handful of tissues out of the box on the side table, then hand them to Octavia while saying, “You didn’t wait years. You didn’t even wait days. You spoke up and stopped it from happening.”
Her words are broken up by the tissue she drags under her nose, but I still hear them. “And I was hated for it.”
“By fucking morons.” The jest in my tone makes our conversation seem nowhere near as daunting as it is. I’ve been trying for years to tell her the truth, to explain that she saved more than a handful of random minors—she also saved me—but the words always clog in my throat before they are eventually swallowed by anger. “Who gives a fuck what they think about you, Tiv? Their opinion means nothing.” The smile I’m endeavoring to unearth is exposed when I mutter, “I think your shit doesn’t stink and so does Jess, so why are you letting a bunch of old hags get you down?”
I suck in my first breath in almost a minute when she chooses to clarify part of my statement instead of answering a question she doesn’t need to answer now or ever. “My poo doesn’t stink.” I bump her with my shoulder when she murmurs under her breath, “Unlike yours.”
She fiddles with the hem of her shirt for a couple more seconds before locking her tear-drenched eyes with mine. “And I also don’t care what they think about me.”
When her eyes stray to the floor, clarity forms. “You’re worried a sweat mustache will scare away Jess?”
As she dabs her top lip with the tissue, her eyes roll skyward.
Although she doesn’t answer my question, her silence is extremely telling. She spoke up when she needed to, but since she got burned for it, she never rushes for a second round.
“You don’t have to worry about scaring Jess off.” I fucked her without protection, then walked away, yet she still let me almost get her off again. I think it will take more than the occasional nightmare to scare her off. But since I can’t say that, I mutter, “She didn’t shut up about you the whole time you were drooling on her shoulder.”
“I did not drool on her shoulder.” Her high-pitch squawk can’t hide her excitement about her budding friendship with Jess. “But if I did, do you think that will stop her from inviting me to Monday Movie Marathon next week?”
I try to keep hope out of my tone when I ask, “Movie Marathon is a weekly thing?” I miserably fail.
Octavia runs a tissue under her nose to gather the contents pooling there before jerking up her chin. “I thought she had a disdain for Mondays, but now I’m assuming it is how she stocks her freezer with meals for the following week.”
I do a better job concealing my annoyance than I did my hope. “Then I guess you better persuade her to get a bigger couch. I still can’t feel my ass. It’s been numb for the past five hours.”
“Whatever!” Octavia barks out with a laugh. “You loved cozying up to Jess’s bare legs so much, you were practically sitting on top of her.”
I almost correct her that it was Jess sitting on my lap, but I keep my mouth shut.
It is for the best.
“And don’t think my freak-out gets you out of our agreement. You promised to clean up after the festivities. I crushed at least five popcorn kernels into the carpet during my storm out.”
When she springs from the couch and enters the kitchen like her shoulders aren’t carrying the same heaviness as her eyelids, I follow her. “I’ll head over in the morning and help her.”
“No,” Octavia says sternly before filling a murky glass with tap water and popping a sleeping pill onto her tongue. “Jess will have it taken care of by then. She’s a little firecracker who doesn’t know how to sit still.”
“Tell me about it,” I murmur under my breath, my words concealed by me dragging a hand across my cropped beard.
Octavia pulls the glass of water away from her mouth after only one sip. “What?”
I peer at her like she needs her hearing checked. “I didn’t say anything.”
She doesn’t believe me. She never does, but it won’t stop her from trying to remain an upstanding member of society. “Please go tonight. I don’t want to push away the only friend I have before she’s even my friend.” Her low tone is the worst punch in the gut I have ever endured, and I’ve been in a fair share of fights.