Total pages in book: 155
Estimated words: 145634 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 728(@200wpm)___ 583(@250wpm)___ 485(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 145634 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 728(@200wpm)___ 583(@250wpm)___ 485(@300wpm)
The chemo helped, before, but this time, not so much. It just needs time. It’s gonna work. I know it will. It has to.
“I mean it, Derek.” Her voice is hard as she settles back against the bed and takes in a deep breath. “You gotta find someone to make you happy.” My mother’s eyes water as she looks at me.
“Ma, knock it off. I’m gonna be fine.” Her small hand feels so frail in mine, but she squeezes back with the strength I know she has, the strength I'm used to.
She wipes away the tears under her eyes with her other hand.
“Stop talking like that.” I try to think of something the doctor said on the last visit, but there wasn’t anything that I can remind her of to keep her focused on fighting this. It’s quiet for a long time, neither of us knowing what to say.
I try not to let it get to me. She’s gonna be fine.
“Go ahead and turn that light out for me, would ya?” she asks as she puts both the book and her glasses onto the nightstand. “I think I’ll try to get in a little more shuteye.”
“Alright,” I say and get up, pushing off on my thighs and readying to go pass out myself. The thought of my sweetheart knocked out on the sofa makes a soft smile form on my lips.
“Love you, Ma,” I tell her out of habit before I flick the switch.
“Love you, too,” she says softly. “Leave it open,” she tells me with my hand on the doorknob.
As I climb the stairs, I cover my mouth with a yawn and think about Emma.
I remember that day again. The day that she fell, and her bag tore. There was a goodness about her I knew I didn’t deserve.
I still don’t, but I want her.
CHAPTER 5
Emma
Sunlight pours through the sheer white curtains.
I open my eyes slowly, and it takes me a minute to figure out where I am. Sandra’s guest room. That's right. Winter break.
It comes back to me as I rub my eyes and lie back into the soft pillow, just wanting the annoying light to go away. My head hurts and I feel like I either overslept, or didn’t sleep enough. The last thing I remember is being on the loveseat with Derek.
Shit! I practically jump up, pushing the hair out of my face and frantically looking around the room.
Throwing off the lavender-colored down comforter, I climb out of bed. My head spins at first, and I brace myself against the dresser.
Oh my God.
I'm still in the black cami and lace undies I was in last night. Just undies… I take a moment to make sure I didn’t do anything stupid last night. Recalling everything I can.
Well… shit smoking was stupid. Being with Derek … that’s not smart. I cringe as I recall everything that happened last night. Covering my face with my hands.
We didn’t have sex though. I know he wouldn't do that. And I don’t feel like I did.
I cover my face with my hands, remembering how he was going down on me. And then I passed the fuck out. Oh my fucking God.
I was trying to tell him. It was so hard to keep my eyes open.
But it felt so good.
I groan into my hands and then crouch on the floor, leaning my back against the wall and huddling into a pathetic ball.
I cannot believe I did that. I’m so embarrassed.
I look back at my dresser and find my neatly folded jeans.
If it’d been someone else... I shake my head. I never would’ve done that with someone else. Never.
It was all because it was Derek. And he’s different.
In school, they all said he was bad. One teacher specifically told me to stay away. Mrs. Hepburn. She was a bitch who needed to mind her own business. I feel the anger rise up all over again. They had no right to judge.
He wasn’t a bad guy, not really. I knew he wasn’t back then. He may have done some bad things, but he had a goodness about him, hidden under the hard facade. Now he’s grown up, and the mask he wears is good at covering it, scaring people off, but that goodness still there.
I hear faint sounds of dishes and chatter coming from downstairs, and that’s when I realize he may still be here.
I shoot up and bound through the room, digging through my worn-out black duffel bag to find my pajama pants and quickly pull them on. I practically run down the stairs, but when I look up and see his jacket is missing from the coat rack, my heart drops and my steps slow. My bare feet pad on the wooden floor, and my stomach growls as I walk towards the kitchen.
I wish he was still here so we could talk about what happened last night. We need to talk about it.