Total pages in book: 120
Estimated words: 121946 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 610(@200wpm)___ 488(@250wpm)___ 406(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121946 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 610(@200wpm)___ 488(@250wpm)___ 406(@300wpm)
Something tells me once inside, I’ll need it. The bastard probably didn’t pay the electric bill either.
It’s pitch-black other than light coming from my phone.
What the hell am I going to do?
Where will I sleep?
And my things. I need clothes, a toothbrush, my schoolwork.
Wait.
The back window in the family room isn’t locked.
Holy crap! I almost forgot. It’s broken. I have a way in.
My body shakes, and tears prick my eyes.
Finally, something is going my way. It might have no electricity, but at least I’ll have a bed and my things. At least I’ll be safe.
As I jimmy it open and hoist myself through the window, I realize my assessment of the situation is spot-on.
It’s pitch-black inside. All the lights are off. Even the one I have set on timers, so it always appears that someone is home.
My feet hit the floor, and they echo. It sounds like an angry stampede of elephants. It’s not.
It’s just me.
There is nothing.
I want to fall over and sob.
One lone tear escapes my eye, but I wipe it away fast and stand up straight. There is no time to allow myself to fall apart. Instead, I take another step. Again, it echoes.
Without furniture, nothing absorbs the sound.
Goose bumps break out across my skin as I move through the room. It feels like someone is here.
Watching. Staring.
I chalk it up to my paranoia this time.
Trent has me wound up and seeing things.
No one is here, obviously. It’s all in my head, but I have that feeling. The feeling you have watching a scary movie. When you know something terrifying is lurking behind the door.
I start to pace the room. I love this house. It was the start of something amazing.
Something solely mine.
And now it’s gone.
No. Not true. Tomorrow, I will regroup. I will find Mr. Baker and figure a way out of this mess.
He’ll probably tell me to move back home with my sister, but I won’t do that. Not ever. Last I spoke to her, she was living with that creep.
That’s what she does.
She latches on to a man. Well, that was how it was before Ronald. He was our second chance. Also, my sister’s longest relationship.
He loved us and took care of us, and when he was around, I thought anything was possible.
As a little girl, I envisioned him as a prince. He rescued us. The fact that it was all a lie doesn’t sit well with me.
I’m having a hard time reconciling the two stories.
The one that Trent Aldridge yelled about and the man I knew. The man I knew would never have abandoned his family.
But at the same time, the man I knew would never have had a secret family, so I guess what do I know?
Nothing, obviously.
I start to walk around the house, looking to see if he left anything behind.
A blanket?
Clothes.
Anything that can help make tonight more comfortable.
I don’t have a bed. Maybe I should just go to Heather’s apartment. It’s not that far of a walk. Plus, she would take me. She would kill me if she knew I was planning to sleep on the floor with no blanket.
The problem is, I can’t ask for help. A level of pride has been ingrained inside me since I was a small girl.
Since back in the day when we lived in my sister’s car rather than ask for help.
That was before . . . but I can be that strong girl again.
The hard times don’t kill us. They teach us how to adapt. How to grow thick skin. How to become resilient. And even now, after all these years of wanting for nothing, the feeling of asking for help is still hard.
I shake my head.
No.
Every once in a while, you have to table your emotions and lay yourself bare. I can ask for help. It’s not the end of the world. It won’t undermine my growth as a person. I allowed Ronald to help me. I didn’t ask for help, but he gave it.
My stomach drops. He always helped me, yet it seems he only caused his own family pain. Reconciling the man I knew from Trent’s father is hard enough but doing it while standing in a house cloaked in darkness due to his son is impossible.
I continue to search the house for anything I can use. With my phone’s flashlight, I go from room to room. Nothing. Not a damn thing.
Garbage can: Gone.
Toilet paper: Gone.
Hell, even the light cans in the ceiling are stripped of the bulbs.
Gotta hand it to the jerk. He left nothing. Even the bag of recyclables I left by the back door is gone. On the off-chance I managed to convince the electric company to turn the lights back on the bastard stole the light bulbs like he was the Grinch.
He was thorough. A complete ass, too. Can’t forget that part.