Total pages in book: 147
Estimated words: 137135 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 686(@200wpm)___ 549(@250wpm)___ 457(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 137135 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 686(@200wpm)___ 549(@250wpm)___ 457(@300wpm)
How does he do that?
Even when I know damn well what I’m trying to say, my sentences are all sprinkled with an uh, an um, a like or four, and more than my fair share of cuss words. And it’s literally my job to eloquently make use of the English language. So how the hell did he say all of that without a single stumble? I’m actually mesmerized, almost jealous of how articulate he is while talking aloud to me.
His words are concise. The tone serious but pleasantly so. Not at all patronizing, as if he were speaking to a child who needs to be reassured, but like a smart man using facts to make a point.
“And even more than that, I’m so proud of you for not only changing out of your pajamas and into workout clothes today, but you worked out for the first time in six months. You made it more than a mile, sweetheart, when I know sometimes just getting out of bed is too hard. I know every single day is a struggle. I understand the voices in your head do everything they can to bring you down, when all you want to do is raise everyone else up. And that’s so hard, princess. It’s hard to be who you truly are when it seems like everyone and everything is working against you.”
If anyone else had said that to me, I would’ve scoffed. I would’ve thought they were making fun of me, sarcasm highlighting their words. But when he says it, I feel nothing but seen. I feel understood. I feel like he truly gets me.
“But I just wanted you to know I adore what you’ve shown me of yourself so far, and I hope I get the opportunity to see more. You’ve made me so happy today,” he says, and I involuntarily gasp behind my hand, my eyes finally closing on their own. Such simple words after completing such an easy task for most people, yet they hit me like he wrote me a soul-deep sonnet. “And I know those voices will set in the minute I leave, if they haven’t already, so I also want to say thank you for allowing me to sit here with you, to see you and speak to you in person, and that, from what I see, I wouldn’t change a goddamn thing about you, pretty girl.”
And with that, he stands, and my heart leaps toward him, as if it has hands that want to grasp his arm and make him stay. Make him continue to just murmur his sweet words to me all damn day and well into the night.
But instead, I just drop my hand from my mouth, not realizing until that moment that my cheek is wet when tears fall the rest of the way down to my jaw. I wipe the side of my pinky off on my leggings before using the same shaky hand to swipe the tears away, feeling silly for getting emotional without even noticing it when it happened.
I still can’t make myself look up at him, even when he says one final thing, an order I want to follow immediately, “Keep writing, princess,” but I do nod in agreement.
It’s such a mix of feelings that hit me all at once as he moves around the column back to the table with his backpack and water bottle. While most of me wants to do anything to make him stay, to spend more time just sitting here with me, even if he doesn’t keep talking the way he just did, there’s also parts of me that keep me from putting that want into motion: like my lungs, which seem to finally be able to take a full, deep breath. My throat, which can finally swallow after my salvatory glands come back online. My shoulders and face, which relax and stop their incessant, tense twitching.
But my heart refuses to slow.
My hands continue to tremble on my keyboard.
And my mind suddenly begins to race as I try to go over and repeat every word he said so I don’t forget a single syllable. I want to write it all down, to keep forever, to pick apart and dissect, but my fingers won’t do anything but quiver upon the keys.
If I can’t type anything, I decide I’ll just read over the last page I wrote to get back in the mindset of my story.
Ha! Fat chance. Instead, “you’ve made me so happy today” in his deep, soft voice plays on a loop inside my head, bringing me a sense of comfort that it’s one positive thought my brain has decided to focus on instead of a clusterfuck of negativity for once. A calmness I don’t recognize settles over me, one I’ve never felt even when I take my meds on time.