Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 80495 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 402(@200wpm)___ 322(@250wpm)___ 268(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80495 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 402(@200wpm)___ 322(@250wpm)___ 268(@300wpm)
Even if he doesn’t blend in here, even if he’s a pain in the ass, I’m going to miss him when he leaves. He doesn’t belong in the country, he doesn’t belong in my life, and he doesn’t have any business taking up an inch of feelings I’m in no place to feel. But still, I can’t imagine never seeing this man again, even if that should bring me a ton of joy because it means I’ll be free to live my old life.
“You’re what?” I don’t want to prompt him, but I’m also getting hungry out here.
The cats are bored with our conversation by now, so they stroll through the barn and then race off as soon as they hit the grass, off on a day of adventures.
“I’m…” He looks twisted up. Like the words are painful.
It can’t possibly be I’m sorry. That’s not what he’s going to say. He doesn’t have to apologize. What happened just happened, and it shouldn’t have. We both get that. I crossed the line, and he crossed it back. We needed each other for a few minutes, and we met that need. Then, we both snapped back to reality and stopped letting our bodies and hormones dictate our lives. It’s fine. It’s seriously fine.
He straightens, and the slightly vulnerable stormy look gets wiped completely off his face in favor of his usual tough guy, hard-ass attitude. In just a second, he goes from almost human to entirely unattainable. I didn’t realize what I was waiting for or what I expected to hear, or maybe how much I longed for just any conversation that was real between us after days of purposely trying to ignore each other and nearly two weeks of forced coexistence, but I’m a fool for ever expecting or wanting that or thinking it could happen.
“I need you to know I’ve been damaged to the point where I can no longer afford to have feelings. I cut them off, and I don’t want them back. Ever. I’d say I’m not capable, but my past proves me wrong. What I want now might not be what’s healthy or what anyone else desires, but it’s truly how I want to live my life.”
“Okayyyyyyyy,” I respond, dragging the word out as I stand up slowly with careful movements. Not for his sake, but for mine. If I move too fast, my heart might fall out of my chest. As it is, my stomach is already spinning sickly. I’m such a dummy. Such. A. Freaking. Idiot. “Yeah.” I have to nod. It looks all wrong, like a creepy doll with an expressionless face, except the flapping eyes that open and close keep going wonky.
There’s nothing else to say about this. I’m no longer starving. What I really want is to go up to my room, shut the door, and have a good cry. I haven’t given myself the luxury of that since I fled my old life and ended up here. I thought if I cried, really cried, I’d never stop. And I needed to be strong, or I wouldn’t have been able to do any of this.
I don’t walk like I’m mad. Because I’m not. I don’t storm away like I’m petulant or disappointed, either. I just walk normally. I think we’ve both said all we had to say.
Beau doesn’t walk right on my heels, but I can feel his larger-than-life presence back there, shadowing me back to the house. He’s here to keep me safe. We have a contract for that. He’s here to sleep on one side of my bed for one day a week because we have a contract for that, too. There’s nothing more. We don’t have it, and we never will.
Once I get the door closed, I reach my limit of how long I can wait before the tears start coming, so I race up to my room, shut the door, and lean my back heavily against it. Maybe it’s the separation or the safety of this room, but the tears dry up and refuse to come. I’m not in a sunny, smiling mood either, but at least I don’t feel like flinging myself on the bed and bawling about the things I can’t change. Maybe I’ve found the last ounce of strength I have left. This is almost over. It truly is. Soon, I’ll be able to see my family again. I’ll be able to be me.
That makes my eyes burn, but it’s not the angry, bitter, and ugly kind of tears I wanted to cry on the way back from the barn. They’ve gone somewhere deep inside me, and instead, I keep seeing my mom and dad’s faces. As well as Katie’s. It makes me soft inside, so all the nastiness and stomach-churning I felt in the barn gives way to the softness.