Total pages in book: 216
Estimated words: 206530 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1033(@200wpm)___ 826(@250wpm)___ 688(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 206530 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1033(@200wpm)___ 826(@250wpm)___ 688(@300wpm)
Sure, she could start dating eventually. Maybe when she was like thirty-five.
I headed upstairs. Chloe was probably in her room with her noise-canceling headphones on, watching YouTube, totally lost to the world.
I smiled and shook my head as I jogged up the last of the stairs and turned the corner.
And heard a muffled scream. But this time, it wasn’t Mom. It was too high-pitched. Girlish.
“Chloe!” I yelled, sprinting for her door at the end of the hallway. “Chloe!”
But her door was locked.
Her door was locked and I couldn’t get to her.
“Chloe!” I screamed again, throwing my shoulder against the door. “CHLOE!”
“Dylan. Dylan! Wake up!”
Someone’s trying to hold me back from getting to her, arms around my chest trying to hold me back. No. “Chloe!”
I fight until I hear a female cry of pain that has me freezing and blinking in confusion. Wait, wha—
I’m not in my parent’s house. I’m not— I’m not—
I look around in confusion.
And see Miranda with eyes as wide as saucers, holding her arm to her chest like— Like it was hurt. Oh Jesus fuck, like I hurt her—
“Dylan,” she whispers. “Who’s Chloe?”
I have to get the fuck out of here.
Now.
I whip the sheets off of me and head for the door, grabbing my clothes and stumbling into my pants as I go.
I should never have listened to Dr. Laghari. What the fuck was I thinking? I’m so fucking stupid. I’m a fucking monster exactly like Dad. That’ll never change. It’s in my fucking DNA. The first woman I try to get close to in years and she ends up— Jesus, I couldn’t even go one night without hurting her.
“Dylan,” she calls after me. “Dammit, Dylan!”
She’s fast and she catches up to me before I can get to the front door. She scurries around me and blocks the door with her body.
“What the fuck?” she asks, eyes blazing in the light of the kitchen we never turned off earlier. She didn’t bother to throw anything on so she’s still completely naked. She’s absolutely fucking glorious.
And not for you.
I avert my eyes. “I have to go.” I say it in a tone that brooks no argument and reach around her for the doorknob but she blocks my hand with her hip.
“The fuck you do. What was that about? You had a nightmare. That’s all.”
What the fuck— Is she really going to stand there and deny that I— “I hurt you!”
“On accident! While you were asleep.” She throws her hands up in exasperation. “So next time I won’t body wrestle you to wake you up if you’re having a nightmare. You flail. It’s understandable. Lesson learned.”
But I’m already shaking my head. She doesn’t understand. I’m a violent man. Dangerous. Jesus Christ, didn’t she learn anything from the first night we met?
What the fuck time is it anyway? A quick glance toward the window shows it’s still dark out.
“I have to go,” I say, voice icy. “This was a mistake. One that won’t happen again.”
She scoffs. “You said that the first time, remember?”
I breathe out in frustration. What the hell can I say that will get her to move?
I’m about two seconds from bodily lifting her out of the way when suddenly she stops blocking the door and instead slips her arms around my waist. She squeezes me and buries her head against my chest.
Instead of obstinate, her voice is soft when she whispers, “I’m sorry you had a nightmare. I’m so sorry. It sounded horrible. You don’t have to, but I’m here to listen if you want to talk about it.”
Then she squeezes me tight again, like she’s using all her strength. I– I– No one’s— I stumble a step backwards and she just follows, still hugging me.
No one’s hugged me like this since Chloe.
I choke as I try to swallow hard at the thought.
I don’t deserve—
But at the same time it feels so good. Welcome home, her embrace seems to say.
NO. This isn’t how— I need to leave.
But she just keeps hugging me and after several more long seconds, my arms that have been stiff hovering in the air finally settle down around her.
The second I do, it’s like my body has a mind of its own. It sinks against her like candle wax melting into a mold.
A Miranda shaped mold.
And it’s more than on the outside.
Every space she’s empty, I want to fill. It’s a longing so fierce and sudden, I feel a little short of breath.
What the fuck am I doing?
Am I coming or going? I don’t fucking know.
Going. You should be going. You’ll only hurt her in the end. More than you already have.
But when she whispers, “Come back to bed,” I can only shake my head.
I feel her disappointment when she whispers, “oh,” and her shoulders fall. But it’s only because she’s misunderstood me.
I quickly clarify by cupping her cheeks and lifting her face to me, exposing that mouth that I’m becoming fucking addicted to.