Total pages in book: 108
Estimated words: 103753 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 519(@200wpm)___ 415(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103753 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 519(@200wpm)___ 415(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)
I can’t remember the last time I’d been so happy. All I know is that it had been a while. And Tony brought it out of me.
Hand-in-hand, we walk into the store and something pops into my head. “Can you get the milk? I just need to get some cinnamon while we’re here.”
“Sure,” he utters as we part ways.
Asking an attendant where the spices are kept, I make quick work of picking up what I need and dawdle towards the milk section.
We have been official for two weeks now. He made sure we saw each other every single day, going out of his way to come to me when it was late at night or I was just plain tired. Every single day we made it to the bedroom. And it’s been a far cry from our original arrangement. Don’t get me wrong, he is still very controlling…in and out of the bedroom, but there’s so much more to him that I’d never seen.
He’s tender. And sweet. And passionate.
Every kiss he places on my body is filled with affection, and although he hasn’t told me he loves me, his kisses convey exactly what he feels. And I love those knee-weakening kisses.
He spoils me too, bringing me something different every day and completely ignoring my pleas to stop. He said it was something I didn’t get a say in, and he said this firmly, so I dropped it. For now. The last gift he brought me was a bangin’ new stereo system to replace the crappy CD player he threw out the window. I never got around to replacing it, and as it was used as a sleeping aid, of course he got me something fancy and top of the line. The one I had cost me forty dollars on sale. And I was happy with that. When he handed me the remote and I stood there staring at it, he asked me what was wrong.
Wide-eyed, I replied, “I don’t want to break this doohickie.”
His lips twitched. “Doohickie?”
Shrugging, I told him, “Doohickie is a word.”
Tilting his head, he looked up in thought. “Doohickie. I like it.”
Smiling at the memory, I quicken my pace to get back to him. With his back to me, I see him speaking with a man who works at the store. Okay, so the man is actually a boy. In his late teens at most. And he looks nervous.
Then again, everyone looks nervous around Twitch.
As I approach, I hear the boy explain, “Well there’s a lot of types of milk. You’ve got your one and two percent, full cream, high calcium, omega three enriched, soy and almond milk…”
Walking closer, I hear Twitch tell the boy in frustration, “I just want milk.”
The boy points to the display. “There’s a lot to choose from. Which one do you need?”
Twitch hisses, “Any fucking thing!” Losing his temper, he shouts at the boy, “I just want regular fucking milk. Milk that you put in cereal, you little fuck!”
My stomach drops. A freak out was not on tonight’s agenda.
Placing my hand on his arm, he flinches. He turns his red face towards me and sighs in relief. He sounds so defeated when he says, “Baby, I tried…”
Shushing him, I pick out the closest milk to me, take his hand and walk over to the checkout. We finalize our purchases and head back to the car. Halfway home, I ask gently, “You want to talk about what happened back there?”
He mutters, “Not particularly.”
Patting his hand on the center console, I say, “Okay. But if you want to, you can.”
We arrive home, and as soon as I move to open the door, he holds onto my hand, stopping my exit. “I always get a little stupid in grocery stores. It takes me back to when I was a kid.” Sitting back down in my seat, I gesture for him to continue. “You have no idea what it’s like being a kid on the street…”
I find this the perfect opportunity to let him in on a secret of my own. “Actually, for a year, when I was sixteen, I was a street kid too.”
He seems taken aback by this. “Really?” I nod, and with confusion written over his face, he asks, “Why?”
Playing with his fingers, I lower my gaze and explain, “I told you. My dad was an asshole.”
“What did your dad do to you?”
Anger threads this question, so I decide to tread lightly. “Um, nothing too bad. He liked to make me uncomfortable a lot and pull power trips over me. He played mind-games all the time. Like one day when I came home from school and he met me at the door with his hands on his hips. He said, ‘If you can’t play by my rules, I have to take something away from you.’” I shrugged. “I mean, I was just a kid. I told him I didn’t have anything to give. So he said, ‘It doesn’t matter, I’ve already taken something.’ And when I walked into the backyard, my dog was gone.”