Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 83519 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 418(@200wpm)___ 334(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83519 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 418(@200wpm)___ 334(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
The first time I searched, I did it in his office. The man is smart enough to lock his computer system down but leaves the combination to his safe taped to the underside of his desk drawer?
Does he really think I’m that stupid? I know he isn’t, and it didn’t take long before I realized he’s fucking with me. It’s why I go back and search the same spots over and over. I wouldn’t put it past him to keep moving the damn things around. It’s a game I both love and hate.
He doesn’t mention things being out of place despite him being so fucking OCD about where things go. Last time, he locked eyes with me as he put the handful of books he owns back in the correct order on the bookcase.
I’ve already checked the office. The code has changed, and the combination is no longer written down anywhere I can find. Although I’m certain the things are in the safe, I keep searching elsewhere because it could be a week before I get the chance to look again.
The closet is so organized, literally by style and color, it makes me freak out a little. He’s so fucking meticulous it’s annoying. I check every pocket, knowing they aren’t big enough for the diary but that fucking necklace could be hidden anywhere. I kick at the shirt that falls off the hanger, making sure it’s crumpled in the corner just to be annoying.
Next is the dresser. I start at the bottom because I know from digging in them before that they hold summer clothes, not that I can picture Angel in a pair of fucking cargo shorts, but he owns them, nonetheless.
The first three drawers prove to be fruitless, but I notice the items have been refolded from the last time I went through the drawer. The second drawer from the top, the sock drawer, looks like it was done by a professional. Each pair perfectly matched and in rows, also by color like the hanging clothes in his closest.
Feeling like a brat, I dig my hands in deep and start swirling them around. He may be extra rough tonight if he finds this before bed, and my body hums with the promise of more bruises.
Then my fingers brush over something hard.
I tell myself not to get too excited. I did that two weeks ago and ended up pulling out an old zippo lighter.
I turn the sock upside down, knowing how weird it is for something to actually be inside of it, but I wouldn’t put it past Angel to do shit like that just to give me hope, only for it to crash to the ground. He’s an expert in all things painful to me and delivers often.
The tarnished locket falls into my hand.
The world fucking stops spinning as I look down at the costume jewelry. I blink as if the thing will disappear, but it doesn’t.
It’s here, what I’ve been searching for this entire time.
I could leave, but then I remind myself that I can’t leave. This is only half of what I’m looking for. Taking a chance, I fist the necklace and pull open the very top drawer. It’s not even hidden. Right there on top is Liana’s diary, the string that keeps it closed unwound.
He read her words.
I mean, I suspected he did.
I don’t know a single person who wouldn’t have it in their possession and not at least peek, but it feels like the ultimate betrayal.
Not because he knows in explicit details what she went through, but because he knows what kind of sick disgusting family I come from.
How am I still here with him knowing the truth?
How is he not disgusted with me?
I don’t bother pulling the diary from the drawer, just like I don’t bother closing the top two drawers before letting the necklace slide from my hand. It lands on the top. Because of Angel’s nonexistent decorating skills, it’s the only thing sitting there as I take two steps back, my eyes locked on what I considered the two most important things in my life.
This is part of his game.
The promises, the joy, the pain I love so much, has all just been a way to make me let my guard down, and fuck if it hasn’t worked.
Just like with the hidden combination to his safe, he wanted me to find this.
I haven’t mentioned these things by name at all, and only mentioned them in the abstract once when I came back. He knows I’m looking for them, knows I’ll stick around until I find them. To find them so easily means another goodbye, just like when he cut me loose before.
My heart races as my hands sweep my lower belly.
Did he find out? Is he disgusted with what we created?
My hands tremble as I make my way to the front door, fear washing over me for still being here.