Total pages in book: 150
Estimated words: 148434 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 742(@200wpm)___ 594(@250wpm)___ 495(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 148434 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 742(@200wpm)___ 594(@250wpm)___ 495(@300wpm)
“We can snowshoe to the supermarket,” Donnelly suggests like that is reasonable. It’d be an eight-hour hike for tampons.
Thatcher checks his watch. “We’ll have to leave tomorrow at first light.”
A smile tugs my cheeks, and I do my best not to smile at him in front of Tony. Thatcher being in his element always attracts me.
Akara nods. “We’ll send a team of four. Briefing is in five…” He catches me shaking my head.
“There’s no need,” I announce. “The girls and I have already devised a strategy. It involves toilet paper and hand towels.”
I feel badly that I’m not the one suffering. My period shouldn’t come for another week. Luna is spotting, and Jo started yesterday. But they agreed to a makeshift pad plan.
Luna pulls the ties of her Thrasher hoodie—and the hood squeezes around her face, only her nose poking out. “We just need you to conserve the toilet paper.”
“One fucking square when you shit,” Sulli adds crudely.
Akara breaks into a smile, but it fades when Will jokes with Sulli, “Just one square?”
Sulli bites her lip. “Yeah, just one.” She hasn’t slept with her boyfriend. Yesterday, she confessed that she was feeling more insecure than usual. He touched her prickly leg and jerked away a little.
She told me, “He’s been so sweet. Maybe this is all in my head. Him, thinking I’m too hairy. It’s just made me feel weird, and I don’t know how to fucking get over it.”
I suggested she talk to Will and ask him about the moment, but she’s nervous to broach the topic.
“Are you sure you don’t want us to snowshoe?” Donnelly wonders with a frown.
“Positive,” Luna nods. “Don’t sacrifice your life for a tampon.”
“More like your comfort, you know?” Donnelly shrugs.
“We’re fine,” I chime in. “We’d rather not send anyone out into a blizzard.” Conditions have only worsened lately, and this fact sinks a weight into the room that no one can lift.
We’re quiet.
Only the crackle of fire heard above the mad, angry wind.
* * *
The rest of the day, I’m practically bursting at the seams—my thoughts churning, my emotions rattling. And as midnight hurriedly approaches, only a few hours from the New Year, I know what I must do.
I need to word-vomit all over someone.
I must talk and talk and purge every last thing that throttles my senses, and there is only one person I desire to be on the receiving end.
But unfortunately, survival takes precedent.
I carry a clipboard and walk along the upstairs hallway. With freezing temperatures and broken heaters, we’re all camping around the living room fireplace tonight, and every door must be shut to combat drafts.
I check each tightly closed door and cross rooms off my list. I’ve also been reminding everyone to gather their belongings for the night and head downstairs. All the while, my body hums in anticipation of seeing Thatcher.
I blow out a measured breath. Nerves swarming me, but I refuse to be too nervous to speak this time.
I peek into a cracked bedroom. Empty. Just as I shut the door, Luna waddles past me, dressed in so many layers of clothing that her oversized galactic sweatshirt looks like a crop top.
She throws up a Spock sign. “Beware of the frostbite.”
I smile. “Do you need any extra blankets?”
“Nope. I should be good.” She waves, descending the staircase. “Thanks though.” Once she disappears, Thatcher suddenly ascends the same steps.
I press my clipboard to my swelling body.
He locks onto my eyes with this primitive look, as though we’re two lions protecting the pride. Without saying a word, he stops a foot away and plucks the clipboard from my arms. He scans the list swiftly. “The third floor still needs cleared.”
“Oui.” I almost forget what pushes at my soul.
“I’ll take it.” He passes back the clipboard, his assertiveness melting me. Come on, Jane.
“We have to talk.” I clasp his wrist in haste and open the nearest door.
I pull him into the tiny broom closet. His head almost collides with the low bulb, and I can feel his uncertainty swallow up the air.
He tugs the string light while I shut the door, and a warm glow bathes the dusty space. Cobwebs in corners of wooden shelves, which contains random items like wax paper rolls, a mop bucket, and a broken bagpipe.
“Ever since the house meeting, I can’t stop thinking.” I start gushing. “Maybe it’s because of Tony, because his opinions are so gross and ridiculous, and how he views women is absolutely appalling. And I’m not so sure if he’ll understand why what he says hurts people and how what he thinks is wrong.” I barely take a breath. “Or maybe it’s because we’re stuck here without internet, and I can’t let callous things said about me seep too deep if I’m not able to see them.”
I pause.
Dear Diary, he looks tragically confused.