Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 69610 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 348(@200wpm)___ 278(@250wpm)___ 232(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69610 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 348(@200wpm)___ 278(@250wpm)___ 232(@300wpm)
I nod, because it sounds like a damned great idea to me. I slide off the motorcycle and we walk until we find a big table and chairs made out of beautiful timber. I sit one side, and he kindly sits on the other so I can see him. The sun is going to set soon, so I know we don’t have a good deal of time, which is a little disappointing.
Sitting here with him, it’s nice.
“Your mother seems ... intense.”
I smile softly. “You could say that.”
“She live with you?”
I shake my head.
“You’re a hard one, aren’t you, darlin’? Like a fuckin’ closed book, except all the pages are glued firmly together. You don’t trust anyone, do you?”
I look away for a second, feeling heat in my cheeks. Am I so bad? Maybe so. I just don’t need any more judgement in my life. It’s better if people simply don’t know. I look back to him, but I say nothing. I don’t really know what I can say, except to agree.
“You know, keepin’ secrets locked up, it ain’t healthy. Gotta let those demons out to play eventually.”
I smile a little. “I’m certain demons weren’t made for playing, Malakai.”
He grins at me. “Think you’re probably right about that. Well, keep your book closed, but surely there is somethin’ you can share. Nobody knows a thing about you, let me be the first to find out. Promise I’m as trustworthy as they come. Also promise I have plenty of fuckin’ demons, so you’ll hear no judgement from me.”
I stare into his eyes, and I know he’s telling the truth. “I’m sure that’s not true. You haven’t heard my demons ...”
“You ever killed someone, sweetheart?”
My eyes get wide, and for a second, I contemplate my answer. I could say no, because I haven’t, but isn’t taking someone’s life and stripping them of living it, equally as close to killing them? Still, I’ll give him the honest answer, and the simple one. “No.”
“Then can’t say your demons are worse than mine, because I’ve killed, and I’ve done wrong, and I’ve done stupid fuckin’ shit, but you know what? I’m not a bad person. Far from it. People fuck up. It’s in our nature. Now, I shared that with you, so you gotta share somethin’ with me.”
I blink at him.
He said that without pause. Without shame. He spoke his demons like he was in complete control of them. Like he had accepted them and put them to rest. How I wish I could speak with such certainty.
Still, fair was fair.
And I hadn’t spoken about anything to do with my life to anyone, for a very long time.
“What do you want to know?” I ask him.
He studies me, green eyes scouring my face, before dropping to my lips and murmuring, “What happened to your hearing?”
I kind of knew he’d ask that, because it’s the first thing most people ask. People are curious by nature, when you tell them something is wrong with you, they need to know how. If you tell the someone is dead, they need to know how. It’s always a need to know.
“I had a car accident over a year ago, I hit my head hard, and the car also exploded. My inner ear was damaged, one of them ruptured. I’ve had surgery. It helped. At first, I couldn’t hear a single thing. Now I can hear faintly, if I’m really listening. And I can hear some background noise.”
He nods, crossing his big arms in front of him on the table. “Can they fix it any further?”
There is that dreaded question again.
“Yes, there is a surgery. It’s expensive. But they are confident it would work.”
“And you haven’t done it because ...?”
I look at him, and I know he can see the agony in my eyes. My words come out before I can think of them. “Because I don’t deserve it.”
For a moment, we both fall silent. Me because I am horrified I said that out loud, and him, no doubt, because he is in shock at the words I just let slide past my lips.
“Gotta ask, and I figure you’re not goin’ to answer me, but I’m askin’ anyway ... Why in the hell would you say somethin’ like that?”
“You’re right, I won’t answer you. Please, can we forget it?”
He stares at me, his eyes like two flames, burning right into my soul. He can read me. I can see it by the way his expression changes when he studies me. He’s been able to see, from the moment he first met me, how broken I am. Most people see a quiet, shy girl. He looked right past that, and he saw the darkness I keep trapped behind my gaze.
He saw it.
And he decided he wanted to conquer it.
“Nothin’,” he says, and even though I can’t hear his tone, I know his voice has lowered, “Not a single fuckin’ thing you could say to me would ever make me see you differently.”