Total pages in book: 119
Estimated words: 113837 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 569(@200wpm)___ 455(@250wpm)___ 379(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 113837 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 569(@200wpm)___ 455(@250wpm)___ 379(@300wpm)
“I loved him deeply,” she said.
“Really?”
A small smile touched her lips. “He wasn’t always an asshole. Money changed him, because he wanted it more than me. More than you. Became obsessed with it. I felt neglected, and I looked for that love elsewhere.” Her shoulder lifted. “Though I never found it.”
“Did he love you back?”
“I believe so. Until he didn’t.” Her gaze shifted to me. “Men are fickle creatures, Drucella. Believing anything else is simply childish. What are you going to do if you go back to this boy?”
The breeze kicked up, sending one of the table linens dancing over the patio. “I don’t know.”
“Is he going to college?”
“He applied to Alabama State. He didn’t get the scholarship.”
“So he’s going to what?” Mom lifted her glass to her lips. “Work a dead-end job for the rest of his life?”
“I don’t care if he does! I will still love him. You can’t change it.”
“Cornell is a long way from Dayton--”
“I don’t want to go to Cornell. I got accepted at Alabama State.”
“I see.” Her lips pursed together. “I think you should go to Cornell.”
“And then what? Get a degree. Forget all about Bellamy. Marry some rich guy I barely like, and do nothing with the rest of my life like you did?” It was harsh, I knew that, but I was frustrated and angry that she couldn’t see, I wasn’t her and I didn’t want her life. I gripped the edge of the table, meeting her gaze. “I love him, Mom. Remember what that feels like for just a second. What if dad had never stopped loving you?”
She smoothed a hand over the pristine tablecloth. “Well, things might have been different. But I don’t regret it. I met Pierre…”
“You don’t love Pierre. You like him, but you don’t love him.” I dragged a hand through my hair, angry at myself and her and the world. I wanted to reach through that cold shell of hers and make her remember this madness. I wanted her to recall what it’s like to feel like another person is your source of oxygen. To have them set your soul on fire. But maybe she didn’t want to remember.
“And if it doesn’t work out?” she asked. “You’re talking about sacrificing a very blessed future for this boy.”
“But what if it does work out, Mom?” I was almost shouting because she did not get it. “What if it does?”
“Oh, Drucella.” She looked out over the ocean beyond, then released a sharp breath.
A few seconds of silence passed between us before her gaze met mine. Then she swept a piece of hair behind my ear, and her fingers gently brushed my cheek. “Love is reckless, and you always were wild.” The faintest smile played over her lips. “Tell me about this boy. I want every detail.”
54
Bellamy
I stared at my wall, fighting the emotions whirling through me like an F-5 tornado.
My gaze landed on Drew’s clothes still hanging in my closet, and the pain intensified. I wanted to hate her, I really did, but I couldn’t. I fell back on my bed, scrolling through the novel’s worth of text messages between us, because I was a masochist apparently.
Me: You working sucks
Baby Girl: It does, but I’ll suck something else later
I scrolled some more.
Me: I can still taste you on my lips
Baby Girl: You’re such a pervert
Me: Fine. I miss you
Me: And the taste of you on my tongue is making it worse.
And then, one of the last ones gutted me.
Baby Girl: I can’t wait to come home
Me: I’m waiting, naked in our bed
She thought I resented her. Jesus. I should have just told her I loved her long before now, regardless of how terrified it made me. She thought I wanted to break up with her, so she went to France. Then she cried when I did tell her I loved her, and she hung up. Because it’s Drew.
I rubbed at the growing tightness in my chest before I chucked my phone across the room.
I fumed for a while, blasting Linkin Park.
This was a shitshow of a mess I was going to have to try and untangle because I loved the irrational girl in a way I was sure I’d never love anyone else, and that made me fucking crazy. I knew it did.
Halfway through Linkin Park’s album, Arlo came into my room with Spike clutched to his chest. He turned the music down, then crawled onto my bed. “Is tomorrow the day Daddy gets in trouble?”
Tomorrow was the court date to determine what kind of jail time he’d serve for assaulting my mom. And I had to stop myself from smiling because the son-of-a-bitch deserved it. “Yeah, buddy.”
He frowned, picking over the unicorn’s horn. “I don’t want him to go to jail, though.”
Arlo didn’t understand. He’d grown up seeing the crap Dad did, thinking it was normal. It’s hard for someone to digest the notion that the person who was their hero is nothing more than a villain. Because no matter how shitty their Dad is, a six-year-old can’t see it.