Total pages in book: 55
Estimated words: 52215 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 261(@200wpm)___ 209(@250wpm)___ 174(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 52215 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 261(@200wpm)___ 209(@250wpm)___ 174(@300wpm)
“Please, Luke. Just talk to me. Tell me what’s wrong.” I’m not trying to sound like I’m begging or anything, but desperation creeps into my voice. He’s totally shutting me out, and I don’t know what to say to get through to him.
“It’s really nothing, okay?” he says, staring out of the window.
I’m getting more and more upset with him. Is it too much to want to know what the hell is going on? One moment everything is hunky dory and the next, he has become this cold stranger. My mind goes into overdrive. Maybe he went to the restroom because he was having second thoughts about me. Or he suddenly realized he didn’t actually like me, after all. Maybe this is what all the women in his life get when he is done with them. Maybe it was all in my head. I was always just another notch on his bedpost.
This last thought hurts, and the pain motivates me to keep pressing him.
“Can you please tell me what the hell is going on?”
Luke ignores me. He just stares out the window, avoiding my gaze. Like this is just some fling he’s had, and he desperately wants me to go away. This is bullshit, and I want to call him out on it. I want to tell him he’s being a complete asshole, and I don’t deserve this shit. Not from him. Not from anybody. Maybe I just shouldn’t care. Maybe I should turn cold and distant like he is. But I do care, dammit.
Plus, the way he spoke to me really bothers me. I turn my head to look out the window, puzzled and hurt. I just want to get back to the hotel and not have to deal with any of this.
I feel his hand on my leg, and whirl my head around to look at him.
“I’m sorry,” he says softly. “It’s a long story, and one I have never shared with anybody. It has to do with my father.”
This issue, whatever it is, is clearly personal and painful. I want to place my hand on his to comfort him, but I don’t because my feelings are still hurt. I don’t want him to feel like I’m pressuring him, but I do want to know. I want to know what his father has to do with me. “Will you tell me?”
Luke winces, then looks out the window, like he can’t face me. “When I was little, I looked up to my father. He ran his own business like I do now. It was nowhere near as big as mine, but it was a respectable size, and he was respected in our community. Then, he had an affair with his secretary and when my mom confronted him, he simply ran off with her.” He shakes his head bitterly at the memory. “What my father did was awful. It tore my mom apart. It tore our family apart. When people found out, they treated my mother like a joke. Like it was somehow her fault. And they treated him like a joke. He was that cliché fucking businessman chasing skirts at the office and banging his secretary. Ever since then, I’ve had my rule about not dating people who work with me. I refuse to follow in his footsteps.”
I take a deep breath, as I try to process it all. I’m glad he opened up, but I’m not really sure what else to say to him. Even if he is having some kind of internal crisis, the way he’s treating me still isn’t fair. So, he has some issues from his past with his father? I don’t understand what this has to do with me, or why he feels the need to treat me this way. None of this is making any sense to me.
“Because I never wanted to repeat the sins of my father.”
I’m not really sure how he expects me to take this. It feels like a knife to the back. I don’t really know what to do. It’s easily the most hurtful thing I have ever heard in my life. And possibly, the most heartbreaking.
“Fuck, this sucks so bad. I don’t know what to do with these feelings I’m having.”
Pride comes to the rescue. “Pleeeeease, don’t uproot your principles for my sake,” I say sarcastically, and scoot myself away from him. I stare out the window, picturing how the night could have gone had he not freaked out like this. We could be sharing dessert right now, or getting ready to leave. We could be headed for a stroll, or just headed back to the hotel to screw each other’s brains out.
Instead, we’re sitting here in this icy silence. So now, for the first time since we got here, I feel homesick. I feel ready to go home. But we still have two more days here. Two more God-awful days. Neither of us speak for the rest of the ride back to the hotel. When we get there, we walk inside and ride the elevator together in silence. I stare at the lighted floor numbers. What is there left to say? Obviously, he’s made up his mind and I’m not going to beg.