Total pages in book: 64
Estimated words: 57897 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 289(@200wpm)___ 232(@250wpm)___ 193(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 57897 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 289(@200wpm)___ 232(@250wpm)___ 193(@300wpm)
I slid out of bed, not bothering with the clothes on the floor and opting to put on new shorts and a T-shirt. I was confused and a little miffed.
I thought she was different.
Shuffling back to bed, I lay down again. I was still tired, but my mind was racing. I pulled my phone off the nightstand and texted her, just saying good morning. Waiting for a bit, I let myself lie back and hope that she would pop in and explain why she’d left in the middle of the night. Maybe she had someone coming by the trailer for some repairs or something. I let myself think of all sorts of reasons why she would have left and not messaged me what was going on.
When no text came back, I sent another and waited a bit longer. It was still early, but I had a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach that she wasn’t responding because she was asleep. She wasn’t responding because she didn’t want to.
Here we go again. Yet another heartbreak. Yet another reason to not trust when I felt myself feeling like I was making that kind of connection with someone.
It just wasn’t worth it.
As amazing as last night had been, it was ruined by her sneaking off in the darkness without even a goodbye. I could have even accepted her telling me she just didn’t think it would work and leaving. But she’d just ghosted me, disappearing from my bed and making me feel worthless. I clearly wasn’t the type of guy women stuck around for. That had to be the problem.
It brought up old feelings that I thought I had worked my way through, or at least most of the way through. Anger and jealousy and resentment reared their ugly heads, and I thought about all the times that Charlotte told me she loved me. Then I thought about the day she told me she never meant it. The day she told me that the scar on my face made me look hideous, like a monster, and that whatever feelings she had for me were gone.
That they had been gone for a long time.
That she had stayed with me out of pity. Out of obligation, a torture she put herself through so she could hang on her cross and talk about me behind my back with her friends. How they all felt so sorry for her that she was trapped in this loveless relationship.
I was an idiot then, and I was an idiot now. Beth Ann let herself get wrapped up with me out of boredom probably. Or pity. Or she just changed her mind when she woke up and saw my scar with no clothes to cover up where it snaked down my neck and onto my chest. It was harder to hide there. She must have decided the same things that Charlotte did. That I was damaged goods. Not worth overlooking the flaws for. Not worth trying with.
Anger built up inside my chest, swirling with emotions of sadness and pain, making me feel like I was going to burst. I had to do something with the energy that was flooding my system, something to work out the anger.
There was a punching bag in the corner, one of Carter’s ways of keeping in shape. I could hit the bag for a while, but I didn’t have gloves and didn’t see any around, and I felt like I needed to do something bigger. Something involving more of my body. I wanted to throw something or swing something. I wished there was a batting cage nearby, but as far as I knew, there wasn’t.
What there was, however, was an axe and a whole bunch of wood.
Putting on a pair of boots, I went outside and pulled down a bunch of wood that still needed to be split. One at a time, I methodically cut through them, stacking them up neatly where Carter had been building them and then moving on to the next. Hours went by, and the sun had moved past the midpoint in the sky before I stopped for a moment.
My eyes were getting purple spots on the edge of my vision, and I realized I was dehydrated. I hadn’t stopped for food or water the entire time and hadn’t eaten or drank anything before beginning. I needed to sit down and drink some water and get something in me.
Putting the axe away, I went inside and took off the boots. I went into the kitchen and felt another knife to the back. The dishes I had done by hand were still sitting in the drainer, and our whiskey glasses were sitting on the dining room table. Hers still had a sip left in it. A faint smear of lipstick was left on the rim.