Total pages in book: 73
Estimated words: 68870 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 344(@200wpm)___ 275(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68870 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 344(@200wpm)___ 275(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)
“I’m, um, Minnie. I need to speak to the teacher,” I request. If that light means what I think it means, there must be a teacher here. A teacher like my mother.
He stares at me for a long moment and I can’t read his expression. His dark eyes are surveying me just as I did him, and it feels like every inch of my skin burns with his perusal. I have to tighten my fingers against my palm to keep from reaching out and touching him. How could someone so big and powerful look so enticing at the same time? Everything about him is calling to me, and I want to press myself to him and have him hold me in his arms to dispel my loneliness.
Something passes in his eyes, and I wonder if he’s deciding if he can trust me or not. But thankfully after a moment he steps aside and flips another bolt so that the door can open all the way to allow me to step inside.
As I walk through, I brush against him. I feel his whole body tighten for a moment and he pulls in a deep breath. The door creaks as it’s closed and bolted back. The sound echoes through the industrial space and for a moment the otherwise quiet room is filled with noise.
When the door is locked, he comes over to me and I watch as he licks his full lips. I look up into his eyes, swearing I’ve seen them before.
“Wait here for a moment. Then you can enter.” His deep voice leaves no room for argument as he points to a silk curtain that sections off a part of the huge room. He pauses for a moment, glancing back at the door he just bolted closed as if he thinks I’m going to run for it.
“I’m not going to leave,” I tell him. His body relaxes a fraction.
“You wouldn't make it to the door before me,” he says before disappearing behind the silk curtain. His words should scare me, but they don’t. In fact, they only pique my interest.
I wait as instructed then pass through the dividers and into the dimly lit space. He’s there on the floor seated around some pillows and a low table. The room is tidy and smells clean. It has a scent of something woodsy and warm, and again I have the need to rub against him and cuddle in his lap while he talks to me. I don't know why I feel so safe here. It’s a sense of belonging like nothing I’ve ever felt.
Instead, I take a seat across him and lay my hands in my lap, clasping them together to keep myself from touching him. I’m worried I’ll come off creepy or over eager. I don’t want him to think I’m here to find out his secrets to relay them to the other side of the wall or to get him in trouble. I don’t want him to be taken like my mother was. The thought makes terror rip through my body, but I keep my face passive and calm. I’ve gotten good at that over the years.
“Why are you here?” he asks, getting straight to the point. He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. His hands are clasped together and I can tell he’s tense, as his knuckles turn white. I want to do the same just so I can be closer to him, but I restrain myself.
In a society where no one trusts each other, I somehow feel the need to tell him everything. To open up my heart and pour out my truth. Show him I’m here to help. That I want to be in that light he puts in the window.
“I want instruction on how to teach the peaceful ways of protest.”
He looks me up and down and his eyebrows draw together as he studies me. “Why?”
It’s a fair question, but I feel myself become defensive.
“I have to fight back in some way. I don’t condone violence, but I need to do something. I want to plant seeds of change.” I want that so much. I just don’t know how to do it. Like him, you never know who you can trust. I saw my mother get taken, but I also saw her bring so much joy to others and make them smile. I want to heal in ways other than physical.
“And you think that’s what I do?” His tone of voice hasn’t changed and it’s a little maddening. His eyes are intense and never leave me. For a moment I feel trapped in them, and the sensation is all too familiar.
“I saw the light in the window. I know that it used to mean anyone burning that kind of lamp offers a peaceful place to gather and help to those who need it. They were considered teachers. People who taught others how to cope,” I push, desperate to know if that is what this is, praying that it is. I need this. For the first time in forever I feel alive. I feel like I can make a difference, a real one. I don’t want this taken from me.