Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 87967 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 440(@200wpm)___ 352(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87967 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 440(@200wpm)___ 352(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
“But you think I do. Anyway, it doesn’t matter what you think. A deal is a deal. Don’t let what I did a few days ago interfere in your little trysts. Just as long as I don’t see them, I won’t care.” I looked at Daimon angrily. My words did not match the face I had put on.
“I told you already, that I wouldn’t. Believe me if you want, I don’t care, but the one thing I do care about is you seeing Darren. I forbid it.” Daimon stared at me with icy blue eyes.
“You forbid it? Daimon you can’t control everything about me.”
“I can try.”
“I feel sorry for you if you think that actually works.” I picked up my drink and took a sip.
“With most women it does.” He continued to stare at me as he sat across from me. I could feel the intensity of his body as he moved from his seat and sat next to me.
“Well, I’m not most women,” I said, ignoring his presence that was towering over me. “Promise me, you won’t see Darren.” He peered down at me.
“I can’t promise that. Unlike you, who I have no faith in, you should at least have some faith in me. All I want to do is talk to him. Iron things out,” I admitted.
It was true; seeing Darren the way he was at the wedding broke my heart. He was always there for me, but it was my fault for not seeing how much I had hurt him. I needed to at least make it better somehow.
“You are so frustrating. Why can’t you just sit at home and spend my money? Who cares about Darren and how he feels?”
“This isn’t about me. This is about you and that woman from the wedding. Who was she?”
“Nobody.” Daimon went cold and rigid as he moved away from me and picked up his drink, finishing it off.
“Why can’t you just let me in?” I asked, hurt that he kept skirting the issue.
“You’re one to talk. You hardly ever talk about you and your life,” Daimon turned it on me.
“Fine. Ask me. Ask me anything.” I regretted my words the moment I said them, but I knew it may be the only way Daimon could start talking.
“Your mother, what exactly happened?” he asked, gauging if he pushed too far. I picked up my drink and took yet another swig.
“I begged her to make a special dinner for me. I know it sounds stupid, but we never had the time or the money to do that. I wanted that day to be about me and how hard I worked, not only in school, but at the diner too. I wanted my day. I kept pushing her, telling her it wasn’t fair. She even got into an argument with me the day before when she finally relented, saying I was ungrateful, but like a stupid teenager, I didn’t care, as long as I got what I wanted. She left the diner early that day and went and bought all the things I had begged for. I arrived home early enough to wash off the shitty water you spilled all over me and began to get ready for my little party. The hours kept passing yet she didn’t come home.” I stopped and drank again. I could feel my throat burn, the words aching as I spoke them. “It was a hit and run. I know I didn’t outright kill her. I’m not that delusional to think that, but I still feel responsible for her death. I was exactly what my mother said I was: an ungrateful child. My greed killed her.” I cried silent tears, each of them gradually falling down my cheek. “Well, there you have it.”
“You didn’t—” Daimon started, but I held up my hand.
“Don’t,” I sobbed quietly.
Daimon sat, silenced by my story. He waited, but finally broke the stillness that befell us.
“You know I wasn’t the one who did that to you that day,” he noted
“Of course it was,” I shrugged. “You always did stupid, crappy things to me throughout high school.”
“I was just teasing you,” he hissed.
“That was teasing? You call pushing me into the school’s pool with my uniform teasing, or dropping the cafeteria food all over me, that was teasing?” I was totally taken aback.
“I was just fucking around with you,” he said, taking the last of his drink.
“Fucking around?” I repeated.
“Do you have any idea what ‘your special attention’ did to me throughout high school?” I questioned, but seeing the confusion on his face told me he had no clue.
“What are you talking about?” he asked.
“Forget it. It’s not even worth bringing up.” I leaned far back into my seat to gain distance. How could I feel anything remotely for him after everything he’s done to me? I seriously must have issues.