Total pages in book: 157
Estimated words: 150968 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 755(@200wpm)___ 604(@250wpm)___ 503(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 150968 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 755(@200wpm)___ 604(@250wpm)___ 503(@300wpm)
I didn’t lie to Maddox when I said I don’t feel any affection for her.
Simply because human emotions are too complicated and I can’t imagine myself growing emotionally attached to anyone. Emotions make you weak. Love makes you weak. The world is better off without another lovesick fool.
And anyway, my heart is too wretched to feel those kinds of emotions. So I never bothered to try and understand them. To make sense of them— of what feelings are or can be.
But still, I’m annoyed.
Maddox and Lila are at the library, studying. Riley has a day off. And I’m here, prowling restlessly back and forth in my apartment.
Wait, I know why I’m feeling peeved. It’s the fact that Riley got the last words yesterday, and for some reason that pisses me off. The thing is, sometimes I’m a jerk for the sole purpose of creating an argument because, yeah, it’s entertaining. I won’t lie.
And I’ve never lost an argument before.
Not that I lost the argument last night, but still…Riley had the last words and my assertive nature doesn’t seem to like that very much. It rubs me the wrong way and I know I won’t be able to settle unless I fix it, unless I get the last words.
I quickly stop prowling. It only takes me a second to make up my mind. With a frustrated grunt, I stalk out of my apartment and stand outside her door.
I knock, and I wait. I know she’s home. I saw her earlier, taking her garbage out to the waste chute. When there’s no response, I rap my fist against the door again.
And then a third time.
After the fourth knock and still no response, not even the sound of rustling movement behind the door, trepidation courses through me. I still have the spare key to her apartment, though I’m not so sure if it’s still appropriate to use it.
So, instead, I wait for a little longer.
After five minutes of stalking back and forth in front of her apartment, and random knocks in between with still no response, I finally use the key to unlock her door and walk inside. The place is eerily quiet, with no sign of life inside. I strain my ears, wanting to hear her footsteps to know where she’s at in her apartment.
But instead, all I hear is a faint beeping sound.
“Riley?” I call out, closing the door behind me. Where the fuck is she?
I take two steps forward, then come to a halt when I see a limp figure on the floor. In the living room, next to the white couch. My ears ring with alarm as I rush forward, my heart jumping to my throat at the sight of an unconscious Riley.
I fall to my knees beside her, cradling her head in my hands. “Riley?” There’s a frantic note in my voice. “Hey, wake up. Riley? Riley!” I gently tap her cheeks, but she’s completely out. Not a single muscle twitches.
Her body is completely limp, her face pale, and I watch the slow rise and fall of her chest. Her breathing is slightly uneven. “Riley!” I call out her name louder. Did she hit her head? I run my fingers through her scalp, searching for an injury. But that can’t be it because there’s no blood and no bump either.
A fist squeezes around my lungs in horror and fear.
When I start to feel disoriented and my body teeters sideways, it finally registers what the beeping sound is about: it’s the carbon monoxide detector.
And Riley…
My heart stammers in realization. “Oh fuck,” I swear loudly, picking her up and rushing out of her apartment. She’s passed out because of carbon monoxide poisoning. Goddamn it!
I kick my door open, and stalk inside, lying her on the couch. My fingers brush against the faint pulse in her throat. It’s too slow. “Stay with me, Riley. Stay with me. You’re going to be okay. You’re okay. Stay with me.”
The lump in my throat grows larger, restricting my airflow. I’m panting for breath, struggling to make my lungs keep functioning. My stomach recoils with sickness as I realize just how much danger Riley had been in. She was right next door, and if I hadn’t made it in time, she could have—
I shake my head, refusing to even think of how ugly the outcome could have been.
With trembling fingers, I call for help. “911, what’s your emergency?” An unknown voice comes through the phone.
“There’s a case of carbon monoxide poisoning,” I tell the 911 operator, blood rushing between my ears. My voice shakes with panic and my heart beats frantically against the walls of my rib cage. “My neighbor,” I choke out, “I found her unconscious in her apartment.”
“In the case of a carbon monoxide poisoning, please make sure to remove her from the apartment—”