Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 89898 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 449(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89898 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 449(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
She smiles but it falters quickly. “I … I do. You know that I do.”
“I hope so.”
She takes another deep breath. “I’ve been lying in bed tonight thinking about you and what you said and what Sienna has been saying. And … I know I have vulnerability issues.”
I lock my hands together in front of me and rest my elbows on my knees.
“Letting people inside my world … scares me.” She looks at the ceiling. “I feel like such an idiot for saying that. But it does. You aren’t even asking me anything deep, and I still … shut down.”
“You know what? It scares me too. It scares me to let people into my inner circle, and it scares me to be inside someone else’s.”
She drops her head and levels her eyes with mine. “Really?”
I get to my feet. My hands find my hair. My fingernails drag across my scalp, the bite feeling good despite the pain.
It’s my turn to take a deep breath as I try to decide if going into all of this is worth it. I’m two seconds away from telling her it’s okay and that I see her point about keeping things superficial between us, but then I look at her face.
The pain there is unmistakable. The fear, too, is obvious.
That’s when I know: I have no choice.
If this walled-off woman is opening up to me of all people, it’s my responsibility to help her.
I want to.
“I had a girlfriend a few years ago,” I say. “It started out innocent enough. She stayed here a few nights here and there, and eventually, she lived here. I didn’t even realize it at the time. I guess, in retrospect, I wasn’t around a lot and didn’t really question why she was here when I got home. I figured she just wanted to see me.”
“Makes sense.”
“But she didn’t. She’d pretty much just moved in. And when it got to be too much for me—when things settled down a bit at work, and I was home more and kind of put two-and-two together, it got bad.”
“How do you mean?” she asks.
“Well, we weren’t compatible. Not to be living together twenty-four seven. But I knew that. She was never that kind of person for me, and my lackadaisical approach with her was the wrong and irresponsible way to handle it.”
“Surely, she knew that, though,” Blaire says.
I shrug. “I don’t know. I don’t know if it matters because even if she did, it doesn’t change what happened.” My lip hurts as I bite down to brace myself for the flood of memories. “Kendra was really big into the social aspect of Savannah. Her parents are deeply embedded in the clubs and charities and all that shit that goes down behind the scenes.”
“Are you? I mean, are you a part of that scene?”
I try hard not to roll my eyes. “Yes. I am. Mostly because I grew up in it and operate a business here. It’s good for networking and for giving back to our community. But I don’t care about the rest of it—the balls and cocktail hours and all that shit.”
“But Kendra did.”
“She did. And because she assumed, I guess, that we were a permanent thing, she positioned herself as such. I had no idea.”
I run a hand down my face as I remember the night I realized what happened.
“I got an invitation in the mail addressed to a Mr. and Mrs. Holt Mason. Needless to say, I was confused. And I was downright shocked when she sort of offhandedly mentioned that it was from one of her friends in New York. I started putting different pieces together.”
My chest squeezes as I recall the events of the next twenty-four hours.
The black stains that marred her face. My utter confusion. The ugliness of the words thrown back and forth.
“Unbeknownst to me, she had moved in. Let her apartment go. Started getting mail at my house. I’d never saw us like that, but she obviously did.” I blow out a breath. “I tried to rationalize with her, but she wasn’t having it. And it just … devolved from there.”
My heartbeat quickens as freeze-frame images flash before my eyes.
I force a swallow down my throat. The passage is constricted as a wash of emotions reminiscent of that day flow through me.
A chill rips down my spine.
“When I got home from work the next day, she was gone,” I say, the words tinged with an anger I choke back. “And my house was a disaster. Paint in the bed. Broken windows. My clothes and belongings strewn around the house and in the pool. It was … it took weeks to clean it up.”
And even longer for me to trust anyone again.
“I sat in the bed, in the middle of the paint and broken glass, completely numb. It felt surreal. A complete violation of my trust. I questioned everyone and everyone’s motives for a long time after.”