Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 98207 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 491(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98207 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 491(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
I often dream of her. Small fragile hands exploring my body. Hands that could never hurt. Hands that- when they touched me- made me feel things I didn’t understand.
I like to follow her. To watch her when she doesn’t know it. She only ever sees me when I want her to. She hasn’t a clue that I’m with her every night. Watching, obsessing, craving her in a way that I’m not accustomed to. She brings to life my baser functions. An urge to be inside of her so strong, sometimes I worry I will succumb to it again.
That would be wrong.
Because I can’t give her what she needs. I don’t even know what she needs. I only know that touching her again would be like dousing the fire with gasoline in hopes of calming it. I know once I have another taste, there would be no choice in the matter. I fear that I would continue to draw from her goodness until there was nothing left. Until she could only ever hate me.
I don’t know how to avoid that. I don’t know anything other than that it’s always been her, from the moment I saw her three years ago. She’s the thing that I’ve yearned for more than anything else. And for that reason, she’s the thing I can never have. I cannot control my urges. My instincts.
Because when I think about her with those other men, it makes me angry. So bloody angry. She gave herself to them. And she shouldn’t have. Logically, I know I don’t own her. But I want her just the same, and yet I’m too paralyzed to act on it. But all I ever have to do is think about her with someone else, and it makes me want to take her for my own. Give her no choice in the matter.
I don’t ever want to be that way with her. She could only ever see me as the animal she saw tonight.
In the darkness, as her performance goes on, my frustration only grows. It isn’t often that I feel angry over the things in my past. The things that made me what I am. But watching Sasha in the shadows, knowing that someday another man will have her, it triggers my rage like nothing else can.
I want to be what she needs. What she wants. But I’m not.
Someone else will. Someone who I may very well end up killing too.
Chapter Four
Sasha
When I get home from work, Amy is waiting for me like always. But she isn’t flipping through a magazine. She isn’t doing anything at all. She’s sitting at the table, hands folded together and her gaze fixed on the doorway when I come in.
I set down my bags and my eyes dart around the room, seeking out five things. Just five little things to keep me grounded. Anything to keep me from teetering off the edge of despair. But it doesn’t seem to work anymore.
Everything in this apartment reminds me of my Ma. Her oven mitts, her apron, even her happy fern which is now sulking in the corner of the windowsill. She’ll never see or touch these things again. Every night I go through this. Wondering if this is going to be the night Amy tells me it happened. That she slipped away, and I didn’t even have a chance to say goodbye. I don’t have time to prepare myself either way before Amy fills me in.
“She took a turn today,” she says softly. “There are some signs of infection. Most likely pneumonia.”
I collapse into one of the kitchen chairs, but I can’t find the words to respond. I’ve already been warned of the likelihood of something like this happening. I know what an infection in her state can do. What it will do. But it still feels like the rug has been ripped out from beneath me. Like I haven’t had time to prepare.
It doesn’t matter how informed you are, or how long you know it’s coming. I’ll never be ready for her to go. Even if it is the best thing for her. Even if she’s in pain and it’s selfish of me to want to keep her here.
“So what happens now?” I ask.
“We’ll continue to monitor her,” Amy explains in a gentle tone. “She doesn’t want any antibiotics, so we’ve increased her dosage so she can rest. But it means she’ll be out of it. You should call Emily and tell her to come now.”
I nod and a tear escapes my eye, falling down my cheek and splashing against the table. The table where we all used to eat as a family. I have the sudden urge to break it. To see it piled up like matchsticks. Instead, I settle for scratching my nail against the wood, marring it.