Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 69371 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 347(@200wpm)___ 277(@250wpm)___ 231(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69371 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 347(@200wpm)___ 277(@250wpm)___ 231(@300wpm)
"It doesn't matter what I wanted," she says, and I can hear the hurt in her voice.
"Clarabella," I say her name again, this time soft, this time with a plea for her to look at me, but she doesn't. Instead, she looks to the side, and I see her blinking away tears. The fact that I made her have tears after everything she's been through today just pushes me over the edge. She deserves so much better than whatever it is that I have to offer. The fact that I brought her to tears breaks me, and I don't think I've ever felt this broken inside. The pain in my chest and the need to want to pull her to me is one that I will never be able to explain.
"You made your choice," she says, her voice low. “And I wasn't worth a thirty-second phone call. Instead, I had to find out from Mikaela."
I was wrong before. This right here shatters me. That she would think that she wasn't worth a thirty-second phone call is the dumbest thing she's ever said. "You are worth more than that."
Chapter 18
Clarabella
"I need a drink." My voice comes out shaky, and I reach for the bottle and take another sip. Maybe if I drink enough, I can forget everything.
"What did you eat today?" he asks, and I want to tell him it's not his concern.
"Breakfast," I answer him in one word.
"I'll make you food, and then I'll go," he says, and the lump in my throat fills up. I have to get away from him.
I grab the bottle and get down from the stool, then make sure my ass isn't showing when I walk toward the couch. “I don't think." I hear Luke's voice before I sit on the couch and sink into it. It's almost like quicksand.
"What the fuck?" I blurt, holding the bottle in the air to ensure I don’t spill any of it.
"Shit," he says, rushing over to me, and it looks like he's going to grab me, and right now, after that talk, the last thing I want him to do is to touch me.
"Grab the bottle and turn around,” I warn, and he grabs the bottle and just looks at me. “Fine, don't turn around," I say, moving to get out of the sunken hole. “But I'm not wearing your boxers under this shirt, and all these panties can be described as are string."
He glares at me, turning and walking away from me. I huff and puff, trying to get out, and finally, I roll out of the hole and end up on my knees. "What in the?" I say, getting up now and feeling like I just ran a marathon.
"The raccoons made the base of the couch their home," he explains with his back still to me.
"Why in the hell would you not throw it out?" I brush myself off. “Can I get rabies from sitting on the couch?" He laughs. “It's all fun and games until I have to get a rabies shot from an infested couch." I look at his back and then to the couch. “I swear, I feel things crawling in me."
He looks over his shoulder, laughing. “Sit down and let me make you food," he suggests, turning when he sees that I'm covered.
"Whatever." I roll my eyes, walking over to the stool and sitting again while he goes to the sink and washes his hands before coming back and grabbing the bag of food he brought in before.
I watch as he takes out the ingredients and then turns to grab a pan. “You have state-of-the-art cookware," I observe, grabbing the bottle of scotch. “But a couch that is rabies infested."
He just shakes his head. “I come here to get my inspiration."
"Did you cook the raccoons?" I ask with my hand halfway to my mouth, and he just glares at me.
"I like to come up here when a lot is going on and just find my peace," he explains as he takes the chicken out and pats it dry. “I come here and create dishes and then see if they are good or not."
"So, you come up here in the middle of nowhere." I cross my legs. “And cook for yourself and then eat the food." I want to puff out and tell him please spare me, but I don't.
"Pretty much," he says as he turns the stove on, and I just watch him cook. I don't know what to say. When I walked out of the room, the last thing I thought we would discuss would be him leaving. At least I told myself I wasn't ever going to bring it up and make him see how much it bothered me. But push comes to shove, and you get enough liquid courage in you, and all bets are off. Sitting in front of him, I’m trying to be snarky about it, but then my heart fell when he said that it was the best night of his life. I couldn't even look at him to see if he was telling the truth. Instead, I had to look to the side and fight through the need to let the tears come. I felt his eyes on me the whole time as I blinked my eyes furiously to make the tears go away.